


Kicking Gotham

by Steelbadger



Series: Harry Potter/DC Fusion [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Auror Harry Potter, Gen, Head Auror Harry Potter, Investigations, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelbadger/pseuds/Steelbadger
Summary: When Neville Longbottom goes missing during an investigation into reports of strange magical plants in the Muggle world, it falls to Harry to try to find his friend. Last known location? Gotham City, USA.
Series: Harry Potter/DC Fusion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920430
Comments: 52
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Kicking Gotham](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911900) by [Borsari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borsari/pseuds/Borsari)



> Welcome to my first fic on this platform! I decided it was high time I get involved in more than just reading stories on here, so this most recent story is going to be crossposted to here from FFN. Depending on how I find the experience, I may also port my other works.
> 
> This story is a fusion between Harry Potter and DC continuity that pulls from a number of different sources. There's not all that much consistency in the DC canon, really, when you start trying to really pin it down, so I kinda gave up. One thing worth noting is that the DC canon is, in a way, just getting rolling. The world has had heroes for a while of course, but they've mostly operated in the shadows, or on the small scale. Batman has only been at work for a couple of years, and Superman has only just made his presence known. It is into this rapidly changing world that Harry steps in his search for his friend.

"I'm telling you that that's just not good enough!"

Harry slammed a fist down on his desk, accidentally sending a forgotten mug of coffee tumbling to the floor of his office. The room was sparsely decorated, with just his desk, a few filing cabinets and a large fireplace. It was the office of a man that tried to avoid it whenever he could. The flames in the fireplace flickered and danced in hues of blue and purple. In their depths, the head of a dark-haired man floated. He looked entirely unmoved by the outburst.

"Well, son, that's just how it is," said the man, his southern accent thick as molasses. "No use throwing temper tantrums about it. It's outside my jurisdiction."

"He was in America," said Harry tightly, as a negligent flick of his wrist cleaned the coffee from the floor and floated the mug back onto the desk. "Where, exactly, is your jurisdiction?"

"He was in no-maj America, son," said the man in the same disinterested drawl. "That makes it a no-maj problem, not ours. He's your wizard, not ours. There's no reason for anyone in the Congress to get involved, anyway."

"So that's it?" said Harry as he threw his arms up and paced across his office. "A wizard, a bloody hero, goes missing, and you're just going to sit on your goddamn thumbs?"

The man bristled. "Now see here. You might think you're hot shit, son, but you don't know dick about how the world really works," he said. "You want to wade through every goddamn no-maj in Gotham? Be my guest. I honestly couldn't give a damn. Your friend had it coming. Walking around, proud as you like, among the no-majes in Gotham of all places. You want to clean up his shit you do it yourself, y'hear? I'm not sending any of my boys out into the fucking boonies just to clean up after some celebrity prima-donna."

"Neville Longbottom is a war hero," said Harry, face-to-face with the head in the fire.

"Your hero. Not mine," said the man dismissively. "Now, if you don't mind, I have more important things to do than baby-sit some jumped-up kids."

Suddenly the man's face disappeared from the flames and they roared back into crackling oranges and reds. Harry hissed and jumped back to avoid getting his hair singed.

"Fucking yanks," he muttered. He raised his voice and shouted through the door of his office, "Padma! I'm taking a holiday."

He turned back to his desk and started packing a few extra items into his overnight bag. Mostly they were notes that he'd collected, letters Neville had sent from America, but after some thought he also opted for his foe-glass. A few distant shadows prowled back and forth across the glass, Harry hadn't risen to become the youngest Head-Auror in a century without making a few enemies.

Padma Patil walked into his office without knocking, and sporting an aggrieved look.

"What do you mean you're going on holiday?" she asked without preamble. "You've got the Brady hearing on Monday, then there's the security arrangements for—"

"I'm sure you can handle it better than I could," said Harry as he looked around the office for anything he might have forgotten. "We both know you're the one who actually does that work anyway."

"That's not the point," said Padma, brushing off his attempt at flattery and glaring at him, though Harry had known her long enough to know it lacked any real verve. "The point is you won't even be here."

"They're not going to do anything, Padma," said Harry simply as he quickly jotted down a brief note informing Minister Shacklebolt of his impromptu holiday plans.

"And you—" She stopped, she blinked. "What, nothing?"

"Nope," said Harry, as the note folded itself into the shape of a small bird and quickly winged its way out of the door. "Nothing. Apparently he's not their problem."

"What? But he's a wizard!"

"Ah, but you forget how much the yanks are scared of the Big Bad Muggles. And they're bloody terrified of going to Gotham," said Harry as he shook his head. "Apparently that's enough to have them hiding under their collective bed, even with a wizard missing."

"That can't possibly be the reason," said Padma doubtfully. "Their muggle policies are stupid, I'll give you that, but the whole reason they exist is that they're meant to protect wizards."

"Oh, and he's not a yank either. He's English. And my esteemed" —Harry added air-quotes for emphasis— " colleague, Mr. Carruthers, tells me that I am welcome to pursue the case myself."

"But… still," said Padma slowly. "It doesn't have to be you that goes to find him, does it? You've got half a department of witches and wizards who know Neville, and the other half would do it just to get on your good side"

At last, Harry smiled a sad smile. "Whoever it is that goes is going to be stepping on some fairly well heeled feet. Neville's my friend, Padma. Of course it has to be me. At least I might have the pull to be able to get them to piss off. Maybe I can wave Abraham Potter in their face if their Magical Law Enforcement Patrol come looking."

"Squad"

"And any—" Harry paused in what he was doing to fix his eyes on Padma's poorly concealed grin. She did enjoy it when she was able to trip him up. "Wait, what? What about squad?"

"It's Magical Law Enforcement Squad, boss. Not Patrol." She gave up trying to conceal the grin. "You should probably remember that, if you're planning on kicking over some ant-hills."

Harry sighed, and accepted that she'd won that round. He was never one to go down without a fight though. "You need to get out more. Maybe you should come too."

Padma shook her head, her smile faded into something a little like regret. "Unlike some people, I'm actually needed here." She paused a moment before adding, "What about Ron, it's not like he does much these days?"

"Ha!" Now that was an amusing thought. "Can you imagine Ron trying to blend in in the most muggle city in America?"

Padma gamely tried to make her suggestion sound workable. "It's not completely impossible," she said. "He got his muggle driving license, didn't he?"

"Yeah…" said Harry, completely unconvinced. "If you'd actually been in that car with him you'd know it didn't have anything to do with his ability to blend in. Or drive."

She reached into a pocket and withdrew an empty baked bean can. "Well, if I can't dissuade you, here." She held it out to Harry. "I already set up your international portkey. It'll take you to the Woolworth Building in New York. Obviously MACUSA don't maintain a secure Portkey destination in Gotham. Should be easy enough to get to Gotham from there, though. It's just a bit down the coast."

Harry laughed and shot her a grateful look as he sent the last of his messages winging its way through the labyrinthine halls of the Ministry. "You're an absolute champion. However did I manage without you?" He took the can and stuffed it into a pocket. "Could you do me a favour too, and ask around to see if anyone else heard from Neville what he was getting up to."

"Will do," said Padma, before turning to leave. "Oh, and Harry?"

"I know, Padma. 'Try not to get killed.'"

"I was going to say, 'I'm not telling Greengrass that you're standing her up again,' but sure, that too."

o-o

The portkey deposited him in a familiar room, richly decorated in marble and gold leaf. He'd been part of a few delegations to MACUSA, and while he knew it was probably just his national pride speaking, he'd always felt the MACUSA's decorators hadn't known when to stop.

The custom's witch at the door to the room eventually waved him through without even asking for a look into his travel pouch. Instead, he'd had to pay the price of a picture alongside the excitable young woman.

He'd very nearly made it out of the front doors when he heard the voice of one of the two people he'd really been hoping to avoid.

"Potter! What in the hell are you doing here?" It was Winston Carruthers, of course. In Harry's experience the man had a knack for being exactly where people didn't want him. Perhaps it was what had made him such an effective Magical Investigator in his day. "I told you your man wasn't our problem. You need your ears pumped, son?"

For a few strides, Harry contemplated simply ignoring the man and walking out the door but much though he didn't like the political games, he knew it would be best to avoid stepping on too many feet. At least until it was necessary, of course. With regret, he turned and gave Carruthers his least convincing smile. "Director Carruthers, it's a pleasure. I can assure you, that I heard you loud and clear, and that I have laid that particular horse to rest. I am, in fact, merely here for a little getaway. I've been told I should take more time off, and you did invite me to visit America again in our last conversation. I thought I'd take your advice!."

Obstinate arsehole he may be, but no-one could ever accuse the Winston Carruthers of being stupid. His sharp eyes narrowed. "And where, precisely, were you planning on 'getting away' to, son?" he growled.

"I fail to see why that should be any concern of yours, Director. I already informed immigration of my plans in your lovely nation. And I have my wand-permit, of course," Harry said lightly. He was well aware that their conversation, below the huge and unnecessary Exposeometer which dominated the foyer, was drawing a crowd of onlookers. "Surely you, as Director of Magical Security, aren't suggesting that your standing security measures are insufficient for the purpose of vetting even members of the ICW Security Council?"

There was a long moment of silence, marred only by the quiet sound of Director Carruthers grinding his teeth. Finally, his face split into a grimace that was probably meant to resemble a smile.

The reason for that grimace was revealed a moment later when Harry heard a voice behind him. It was high-pitched and held the kind of grating enthusiasm that usually gave him a headache. "Ahh, my word, yes, Mr Potter or should I say Head Auror Potter now, hmm? I am glad I caught you before you left."

The new arrival, a diminutive yet rotund man with thinning hair and a bushy moustache was the other person Harry had hoped to avoid, though for entirely different reasons. The ornate chain of office about his neck would have immediately identified him, had Harry not already known who he was.

"President Quahog, it is a pleasure of course." He made more of an effort to make his smile more convincing this time, to mixed success. His expression probably wasn't all that dissimilar to Carruthers'.

"Indeed, indeed," said Quahog happily as he quickly closed the between them shake Harry's hand enthusiastically and giving every indication that Harry did indeed look overjoyed to see him. He half-turned to Carruthers. "Thank you, Carruthers, for having Head Auror Potter wait for me. I'm sure you have much to be getting on with. Dark wizards rarely catch themselves, after-all!" he said with a jolly little titter at his own wit.

Despite all appearances, which might have led him to think that Quahog was little more than an Americanised Fudge: always chasing the snitch that was high approval ratings, the truth was entirely different. Harry had always felt uneasy around him. It was something in the eyes. Aurors learned to watch their foe's eyes rather than their wand, and Quahog's eyes were much sharper than Harry had grown to expect from a man such as him.

Then there was the fact that he had been in the position of MACUSA President for the past 25 years, and in that time had had no real challengers seeking to unseat him. When Quahog had first taken his position, Harry had been barely four years old. Through all the changes that had rocked Wizarding Britain in that time, Quahog had been America's constant. For the normally argumentative and fractious American Wizarding community to have such a long period of relative calm was nothing short of miraculous.

The only conclusion, then, was that Quahog's outward appearance was a carefully constructed smoke-screen, intended to conceal his true nature as a politician's politician. He knew exactly where all the skeletons were hidden, and so long as people stayed on his good side, they'd never have to find out just how many there really were.

He turned back to Harry, seemingly impervious to the glare levelled at him by Carruthers before he beat his retreat, and attempted to lay an arm on Harry's shoulders. He quickly realised that the height differential made them an unreasonably lofty target and settled instead for patting him on the small of his back companionably.

"It's good to see you again, my boy," he said as he began to lead a weakly resisting Harry into a less public part of the Foyer. A cheerful nod to the gathered watchers had them immediately return to their usual flurry of activity. "Heard about that to-do with Declan Brady, nasty business. I told Carruthers that he and his department could learn a thing or two about how you handled that situation."

That might explain why the man had been acting like Harry had personally taken a shit in his cheerios. "Ah." Harry cast about for the right thing to say. "Thank you? It would have been much easier if that idiot Constantine had kept his bloody nose out of things. Bloody occultists. When will they learn it's called 'Occult' for a reason?"

"Yes, well, I'm sure," Quahog said, and Harry detected just the smallest amount of unease in his usually ebullient tone. "It is a somewhat related matter that leads me to talk to you now."

Upon Harry's nod, indicating that he should continue, he said, "How much do you know of Giovanni Zatara?"

"Not much," Harry admitted after a little thought. "One of yours, right? I heard he disappeared a few years back? Bloody powerful, though, or so I'm told. Why do you ask?"

"One of mine is perhaps not how I'd put it," said Quahog, all trace of his usually jovial persona gone. "He always thumbed his nose at the MACUSA, and was powerful enough that no-one really wanted to press the issue. Dabbled in the occult, of course. Even married a No-Maj!"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Scandalous. What does this have to do with me?"

"Well, as you say, he disappeared nearly two years ago. We never really got to the bottom of it, but we know that that Constantine fellow was involved," said Quahog, having the good grace to look embarrassed about the sparseness of his knowledge in the matter. "Just two weeks ago, he reappeared. At least, it looked and sounded very much like him." He looked at Harry expectantly.

"You think it's an imposter?"

"As you can imagine, we have any number of monitoring charms active within this building at all times, and while I obviously can't give you details," he said, giving Harry a sympathetic look, "we know that his magic was wrong."

Harry frowned. "Polyjuice, self-transfiguration?"

"Definitely not self-transfiguration. We had enough trouble with that in the 30s!" Quahog shook his head as he fiddled with the heavy chain around his neck. "No, after Grindelwald we made sure that particular loophole was closed up tight. Even enchanted my chain of office to explode if anyone other than the President tries to wear it. We do take these things seriously, you see?"

In all honesty, it seemed unnecessarily messy to Harry's mind. Why not just freeze them, or put them to sleep? Americans.

"And Polyjuice would only work if he really had come back to life somehow," Harry mused.

"Indeed, so you see we're a little stumped."

"With all due respect, President Quahog, I'm not sure what it is you expect me to do about it?" said Harry. "This isn't exactly my jurisdiction, and as much as we might butt-heads, Carruthers does know what he's doing."

"Do? Oh my dear boy, you don't need to do anything," said Quahog, his familiar joviality returning. "I just thought you should know. Constantine is, after all, to use your words, 'your man'. If this Zatara is real, then Constantine may be in danger, if he blames him for whatever it was that happened between them."

Harry was tempted to leave Constantine to fend for himself if that was the case. "But you said that you believed it was an imposter? Why would an imposter want to go after Constantine?"

"I didn't get to where I am today without learning to cover my bases, Mr Potter," said Quahog with a wry smile. "While we have no details, word on the grape-vine is that Constantine was more than a mere witness to Zatara's death. They were searching for some kind of powerful dark magic artifact when whatever it was happened. Though she wasn't present, Giovanni's daughter, Zatanna, broke all contact with the man after the event, and they'd been seeing each-other for some time when it happened."

Covering bases, or covering arses? "So you think that Constantine might have been the cause of Zatara's death. And if someone is impersonating him, then they might be after whatever it was that the two of them were after. Do we know what they were looking for?"

"Sadly, no," said Quahog with a shake of his head dislodging a few of the sparse hairs of his comb-over. He quickly slicked them back into place. "Perhaps Zatanna would know though."

"You haven't questioned her already?"

"Only briefly, only briefly," said Quahog. "Remember that Zatara only ever kept one foot in our world, his daughter is much the same. All we know is that she's in Gotham…"

"... And MACUSA have never maintained a presence in Gotham," said Harry, finally understanding at last what it was Quahog wanted from him.

"No, well, what with the history of the place, we've always much preferred to keep our distance."

Harry was no expert in American magical history, but even he knew the basics. Ancient Indian burial grounds had never been happy places for wizards to visit, but combine that with some massacres and an ancient dark wizard being buried there in ages long lost to history and you got a city that no sensible witch or wizard would want to call home. It made him wonder just why Zatara's daughter would choose to live there.

"No argument from me," said Harry. He knew that the Gotham Curse wasn't mere MACUSA hysteria, but he still didn't give it the same credit the Americans did. "I fully intend to leave once I've found Neville."

"Then perhaps we can help each-other," said Quahog, his happy smile now firmly back in place. "Zatanna Zatara would surely prove helpful to you in your search for your friend, and if you could, in your time there, ask her about just what it was her father was searching for, well, I could probably use that to keep Winston off your back for as long as you need in your search."

And there was the hook, Harry thought to himself. Quahog was good though, he could barely see a glint of steel beneath the tasty bait. Zatara's daughter would almost certainly be able to provide useful local knowledge that Harry was sorely missing. Unspoken, was the fact that Quahog, or an unrestrained Carruthers, could make Harry's search much more difficult than it needed to be.

"I'll see what she knows," said Harry firmly. Hook though it may be, it seemed much more valuable to Quahog than to Harry himself. "And if she does know anything, I'll make sure it comes straight to you."

"Excellent Mr Potter, really excellent!" Quahog rubbed his hands together happily. "I'll have someone bring you what information we do have on Zatanna. Are you intending to travel on to Gotham today?"


	2. Chapter 2

Heavy rain fell from a leaden sky as he stepped out of Gotham Central station, a typical Gotham welcome. All around him men and women in dark business clothing, each carrying a black umbrella, moved with purpose, blind to the world around them. Not so far away a single gunshot sounded, echoing across the streets. Not one of the hundreds of people filling the streets so much as faltered in their purposeful stride. A moment later there was the scream of tires and a siren wailed into life, only to rapidly fade into the distance.

No-one looked up, no-one looked around. Everyone stayed firmly, safely, within their own little worlds. In Gotham, curiosity most certainly killed the cat.

Over them all, tall buildings reared upwards, until they were lost amid clouds, rain, and fog. Bright lights shone through distant windows, filling the air above with shafts of dull orange light. Long shadows cast by the many chimerae that adorned the older buildings filled gloomy sky with shadowy leviathans.

The sun had not yet set, but the streets below were still lit by street-lamps. The combination of tall buildings and thick low clouds left the streets wallowing in a bleak yellow haze. Here and there, the setting sun would find a path through the maze of concrete and fog to cut a brilliant channel through the shadowy menagerie, but it was slowly being pushed back. Soon it would fail, and the monsters that haunted the night would be free, restrained only by the flickering lamps.

Harry wended his way through the rush-hour crowds, each and every man and woman among them oblivious to the monstrous shades which flew overhead. His chosen destination? A hotel had been recommended to him by an incessantly talkative yet still somewhat helpful woman whom he had met on the train. She'd assured him it wasn't a long walk to the hotel. He didn't have an umbrella and, surrounded as he was by muggles, conjuring one was more trouble than it would be worth if the walk was as short as promised. Instead he opted to rely upon the impermeable charm cast on his Auror's long-coat.

The woman hadn't been lying, the walk was indeed only a couple of blocks. Harry, however, had very definitely misjudged the rain. By the time he reached the hotel, his usually wild hair was plastered flat to the top of his head, and he could feel water running in rivulets down his back. He made his way through the revolving door into the foyer and, with a snap of his fingers, cast a quick drying charm. By the time he exited the door, along with a puff of warm damp air, he looked as if he'd never been in the rain in the first place. If any of the muggles milling about in the hotel foyer wondered about it, they didn't say anything.

The sense he got upon walking into the foyer was one of ageing decadence. The floors were made from well worn slabs of different types of marble, arranged into geometric patterns that had surely been stylish at some point in the past. A once-luxurious carpet, now sadly threadbare, occupied the centre of the room, and on it was a small collection of high-backed armchairs arranged around a heavily scuffed coffee table made of an expensive-looking dark wood.

The walls were adorned with geometric patterns similar to those found on the floor, but this time they were constructed from wood in three different colours. A number of paintings were hung around the room, old, bewhiskered men in tweed jackets stared down at the hotel's clientele with looks of vague disappointment.

At the back of the foyer against the wall, there was a reception desk. It was easily the most modern part of the decor and looked distinctly out-of-place as a result. Harry made his way over to the desk, where a gangly young blond-haired man could be found tapping away at something on the screen behind the desk. His free hand was worrying a dog-eared and clearly much-loved set of playing cards. The actions were well practised as he cut and shuffled the deck one-handed in an absent-minded way.

"Excuse me, any chance I could get a room for, say, a week or so?" said Harry, after the man looked up. The playing cards swiftly disappeared into some little cubby below the counter-top.

"Uh, yeah, sure, sir. Of course," the young man said. Harry judged that he was probably new to the job from the way he hesitated. "Let me just check to see what rooms we have available."

"Thanks," said Harry easily, as he leant one elbow on the counter and looked around while the young man started tapping once more on the screen in front of him.

The hotel was a nice one but, according to the woman on the train, not quite so nice that it was often frequented by mob-bosses or other unsavoury types. The clientele seemed to be mostly mid-level businessmen and women, probably visiting Gotham for some meeting or other. It would do for Harry's purposes. He certainly wasn't worried about the muggle criminals of the city, but he knew that his search was probably going to quickly start racking up the complications. One fewer from the get-go was always a good idea.

Like the Auror manual said: Control what you can, mitigate when you can, and acknowledge what you can't.

"Uhh, yeah, looks like there's a few one-beds available." said the young man, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "Do you have any preferences? Twin or double?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really bothered, but if you have any rooms with a balcony that would be good."

The receptionist bobbed his head quickly and tapped his screen a few more times. "I'm afraid the only balcony available is in the Presidential Suite," he said, looking apologetic.

"That's fine, how much per night?"

"Uh, $840, sir."

Harry whistled almost appreciatively. That did sound steep. He did the conversion in his head and came up with about 140 galleons a night. Still, he wanted that balcony, and what use was money if he didn't use it? "I'll take it," he said. Maybe he could bill it to the department, he just had to make sure Padma didn't see it.

In short order, Harry handed over his credit card, which bore the name of a real muggle bank. Such things had become something of a necessity in recent years, for a wizard who wanted to stay in touch with the muggle world.

As the receptionist was entering his details, Harry decided to see if he could get anything useful out of him. He decided to play a hunch. "So, my friend suggested I try and catch this magic show while I was here, but he didn't know where I had to go. I think he said she was called Zatanna, or something like that anyway?"

"Oh, you mean the Mistress of Magic show?" said the receptionist, his eyes lighting up. "I think you're in luck. She performs most Wednesdays at the Illusionist down in the Theater District. Do you like magic?"

"I guess so," Harry said with an indulgent smile. "When it's done well of course."

"I tell you man, she's like nothing I've ever seen," said the receptionist, his eyes wide, before he seemed to realise just where he was. "There's this trick she does with… Ah, that is to say, um. She's very good, sir. I can certainly recommend her." He paused, seemingly realising what he'd managed to insinuate. "Um, her show, I mean."

"Then I'll be sure to check it out," said Harry, restraining his own chuckle. He supposed that there was a generous helping or irony in the fact that knowing magic really existed, and just what was required in order to pull a rabbit out of a hat, could quite literally take the magic out of some things.

A short while later, Harry was inspecting his suite. It was nice enough, with a small dining and living area, and two adjoining bedrooms containing very comfortable beds. The whole thing had a fairly lived-in feel to it, like the rest of the hotel, but it was clean and the furnishings may have been aged, but they were high-quality.

The view from the balcony wasn't anything to write home about; the hotel itself was among the shorter buildings on the block, and so the view was merely an elevated one of the road below. The city still seemed to press in on all sides, the tall, imposing architecture of Gotham could never be described as neither open nor friendly. Gargoyles and other grotesques, the like of which Harry had really only seen on cathedrals back home, studded many of the buildings. The echoing sounds of a bustling city were only slightly muffled by the dozen or so floors of separation but none of that mattered to Harry.

Before he began his search, however, he had to secure the room. With Gotham being such a black hole for magicals, there was very little chance of a rogue wizard trying to take him out, but it always aid to be cautious. Something had happened to Neville, and that fact alone was enough to prompt Harry to add a few alert charms to his door. Anything more would mean he wouldn't be able to request room service, so it would have to do.

Satisfied, he stepped through a set of worn french doors and into the rain. It had died down significantly since his walk from the station. It was reduced to a dreary mixture of drizzle and fog that gave the already thick inner-city air the consistency of a particularly heavy soup. He didn't bother with any drying charms, as they'd soon be pointless. In a few more quick strides, he reached the edge of the balcony and, without pause, leapt off into the open air.

A moment later, a small, black-feathered falcon winged its way into the skies over Gotham. When Harry had finally managed to complete his animagus transformation, a process that had resulted in more than one visit to the St Mungo's spell damage ward, to discover that his form was that of a melanistic falcon, he'd been overjoyed. Nothing could compare to the feeling of freedom he had when he was flying through the air, no broomstick, no magic, just the wind in his feathers.

As Harry flew between Gotham's many towers, and the ominous shadows they cast, his sharp eyes stayed fixed on the streets below. Through the thick evening fog, even his falcon-sharp eyes couldn't see much more than dark shapes moving deep within the murk, each one picked out in blurry contrast by streetlights and headlamps. His falcon form was able to move through the gridlocked city streets far faster than any car would have been able to achieve and it didn't take long for him to see an obvious hole in Gotham's brick and concrete landscape.

It was as if a great chunk had been carved from the bleak grey firmament of the city, and in its place was revealed a small patch of nature. Tall trees, dwarfed by the forest of steel and concrete that surrounded them, were scattered haphazardly across rolling hills of green. A few ribbons of brown trailed over and across the space, flanked by rivers of pastel colour. From his unparalleled vantage point, it seemed to Harry that the Gotham National Botanic Gardens were utterly alien to the city: a sliver of idealised naturalism amid the towering gothic and brutalist architecture of Gotham.

From on-high, Harry was able to quickly identify the starting point for his investigation. In the middle of the gardens stood a group of three large glass-houses, connected by smaller glass tunnels. Each seemed to be full almost to the point of bursting, and all were surrounded by easily visible yellow police tape.

Harry dove quickly through an open window pane, and landed lightly on the branch of a large tropical tree which dominated much of the space. He sat there for a few long minutes, his bright eyes watching for any motion, and his hearing straining to pick up any sound.

Nothing but a few rodents. Either all the employees had been sent home as a result of the police investigation, or they didn't actually have any night-shift. He dropped again, this time all the way to the ground, his wings flaring out to arrest his fall just before he hit the ground. Then, his avian body rippled and his body fluidly resumed its usual human shape. He landed with practised ease, his wand already in hand.

"Lumos Occultatem," he said, and for him the tip of his wand lit up light a torch, yet to any watching eyes the gloomy darkness with the glasshouse remained unchanged. A useful modification of a common spell, and one of the first spells magical investigators learned.

The ghostly light swept around the room, as Harry inspected his surroundings. There was obvious evidence of a fight. Near the middle of the room there was a work-bench of sorts, or, what had once been a work-bench. It had been snapped in half, and given its sturdy construction, whatever had done it had been either pretty heavy, or extremely powerful.

Whatever the previous occupant of the room had been doing was unclear, as both the bench and the floor had been stripped of anything more interesting than dead leaves. Harry could see numerous patches of ground where it was clear a plant-pot had once been placed. The only things that remained in the room were the larger trees and bushes, and it was easy to confirm that none of those had any magical properties.

With a flick of his wand, Harry detached his torch from the tip of the wand, and directed it to hover lazily a couple of feet overhead, and he started casting more spells.

"Mageia Revelio," he said, waving his wand grandly around the space. Unlike the related charm for revealing people to the casters, this one resulted in a thick mist issuing from his wand until the entire space was filled. Then, after it had settled, it started glowing faintly in areas which had previously been touched by magic.

It was a charm of dubious usefulness in many cases; most normal wizarding homes would have left him dazzled. Muggle Gotham, however, would not have nearly the same amount of magic permeating the air. As Harry looked around, he saw something, there was the merest suggestion of the outline of a person. It was hard to tell but with the faint star-burst pattern in the middle of it, it looked like the tell-tale signature of apparation. That was probably Neville.

If Neville had found anything interesting, Harry could find no clue of it. The light from his earlier spell was too bright. "Nox," he said, and night rolled back into the glasshouse.

With the light of his floating lamp gone, Harry waited a few moments for his eyes to readjust. There was Neville's outline, and beside it, almost invisible, was a large shapeless cloud of latent magic. It didn't look like a spell, those usually had some kind of focal point, or recognisable shape.

Harry looked around the rest of the room and found no other traces. Neville's apparation, and the strange cloud were the only clues that anything not strictly muggle had happened.

A twirl of his wand had the mist sink slowly down to, and then into, the ground and moments later, his wand was once again lit. What he had been unable to see in the darkness was that there was a large circle of dirt on the concrete floor below where the unidentified signature had been.

That had been Neville's plant, and it certainly seemed that Neville had identified it, though from the age of the traces, he'd been a few days too late. Quite how Neville had found it, Harry was not sure. Neville was no Auror or magical investigator, and almost certainly didn't know the spell Harry had used. He crouched down to get a closer look at the patch on the floor.

There were a few leaves, twigs and similar bits and pieces scattered around, left behind by whoever it was that had cleared the glasshouses out after the fight. Harry was no herbologist, but he stashed a few of them into a stasis charmed bag anyway. If he had to guess, he'd say that Neville had seen something in the leaves that Harry had not.

He stood back up and started to consider his next move. As leads went, his were pretty thin. An apparation signature that probably belonged to Neville, and the suspicion that Neville's own quarry had indeed once been present wasn't much, but it was a start.

Neville had likely found what he'd been looking for, so while Harry would find it difficult to trace Neville, he might just be able to track down the plant. If he found where the plant had gone after being removed from the glasshouse, he'd probably find Neville. Or, more likely, he'd find where Neville had been, but that might just be good enough. There was a chance that he'd find some clue as to Neville's onward movements.

That was the hope anyway. It should be easier too. All he needed to do was find a witness to whoever had cleaned out the greenhouses. In a city like Gotham, there were surely eyes everywhere.

A few seconds later, Harry was once again flying over the gardens, sharp eyes scanning the ground below for his prize. It didn't take long. After less than a minute, he identified a group of five bedraggled men huddled around an oil-drum fire. They were out of sight from most of the gardens, a likely necessity given how permanent their little camp looked, but they couldn't escape Harry's airborne gaze.

He landed again a short distance away from the group, far enough that his arrival would pass unnoticed. A quick muffling charm cast on his shoes ensured that they wouldn't hear him coming. He didn't want them hearing him coming and trying to do a runner, which he judged to be a very real possibility. The homeless of Gotham were probably rousted from their camps fairly frequently by irate landowners.

Hands in his pockets, he ambled towards their make-shift camp. The idea was to look as unassuming and unthreatening as possible. Thanks to the darkness and his muffling charm he was able to walk right up to the fire before he was noticed.

"Hey, what— What the fuck man?" said the first man to notice his arrival. His speech was a little slurred, though Harry couldn't tell if it was from drugs or drink or a bit of both. The other men gathered around the fire started and jumped away from Harry as if he was cursed or something.

"I want no trouble," Harry started, his hands held up and open to show he wasn't carrying any weapons. "I just have some questions about what happened in the greenhouses."

It seemed Harry's wish to avoid trouble was not one his new acquaintances shared. He quickly noted that every single one of them was holding some kind of weapon. Two held dirty flick-knives, another only had an empty bottle and one had pulled a baseball bat out of the leg of his ratty trousers. The one that had been the first to notice Harry was holding an old, beaten-up revolver. It weaved back and forth as the stoned man tried to keep it pointed at him.

"I'll pay for any information you can give me," he said in the same calm and level tone he'd been using. "I'm not the police, or with the government. I'm just looking for a friend who might have gotten caught up in something."

"The fuck you doin' coming here, man?" said one of the other homeless men. This one had on a much-patched overcoat and fingerless gloves. Bloodshot eyes glimmered behind long tousled hair. "You think you're cool shit, huh? Climbing down into the dirt to poke the shit at us?"

Somewhat belatedly, Harry realised that the homeless of the most crime-ridden city in America probably would be rather more quick to violence than he was used to. You didn't survive long on the streets in a city like that if you didn't learn that particular lesson.

"Lets just calm down, huh?" Harry tried, feeling very much like he was swimming against the tide. "No-one needs to get hurt. I just want to know if you saw a guy, about my height, short brown hair, no glasses, no beard, poking around here about a week ago. He's my friend, and he's missing."

"So you thought you'd come on down out o' your ivory tower to play hero, huh?" said another of the men, though Harry realised upon hearing their voice that this particular homeless man was, in fact, a woman. "How 'bout we take them nice clothes you're wearin' and you go on your fiddlede-de way, yer Lordship?"

Harry sighed and one hand rubbed at his temple in a vain attempt to fend off the headache he felt would inevitably be coming. He'd never really understood why it was that some people felt the need to make things so hard for themselves.

In a blur of motion, he jumped forward. As those closest to him reared back in shock, the one holding the gun panicked, and a shot went wild into the bushes around them. A moment later, the gun was torn from his hand, and Harry swiftly clubbed him over the head with it. No need for magic, the well-trained reflexes of an Auror were more than enough to best a run-down drunkard.

The man went down instantly clutching his head and Harry held the gun out at the remaining four who'd only just started reacting to his attack. "Uh uh," he said shaking his head and gesturing with the gun. Now that he had it in his hands he figured that the chances of it actually working after that first shot were probably the wrong side of even. That didn't really matter though. He didn't need a gun, he could subdue them with but a word, but they wouldn't understand that. The gun was unnecessary, but it was a more recognisable instrument of power than his wand and would be much more effective at driving home to them that he was the one in control.

"Now, I think we got off on the wrong foot here," he said reasonably. "So shall we try that again. I'm looking for a friend of mine. You seen him?"

He pulled a large picture of Neville out of one of the inner pockets of his coat. In truth, he'd conjured it after realising that simply describing Neville's appearance wasn't going to be all that useful, but they didn't need to know that.

The group remained quiet. If anything their scowls had deepened, which was perhaps understandable in the circumstances.

Harry sighed again and lowered the gun. He took a few steps back, away from the fallen man. "Look, I wasn't lying. I don't want to hurt you, and I'll pay you for any information you can give me. But don't for a second think I'm going to roll over and die because you don't like the way I bloody well talk. Understand?"

He pointed at the woman, who kept glancing between Harry and the man on the ground. It was clear where her attention was, she was barely holding her pen-knife straight. "Help him if you like," Harry said, meeting her eyes, and nodding his head at her compatriot. "I don't mind. I'm sorry I had to do that."

As she quickly stowed her knife and crawled to the injured man's side, Harry turned his attention back to the remaining three. One baseball bat, one knife, and one bottle remained in evidence.

"Right, look, I'm getting tired of this," he said firmly. "I have a 50 for the first person who can tell me what my friend was doing here a week ago." He reached into his coat again and this time pulled out a crisp $50 bill and held it out towards the three men.

This time the silence lasted only a moment before all three started speaking at one. Even the downed man tried to join in, though his words were so slurred that Harry wouldn't have been able to make them out, even if it hadn't been lost amid the other voices.

"Stop!" Harry called, and he held the fifty up to make sure he had their attention. "One at a time. It's your lucky night, as I have enough fifties for each of you to get one, so don't worry about it. Now, who wants to go first?"

The three men still standing looked between themselves for a few seconds before the baseball-bat owner cleared his throat. "Look, we didn't see much, yeah?" he started, clearly unsure if honesty was the right way to go. "It was like three nights after the thing, yeah? On the… uhh…"

"Tuesday," the man with the bottle supplied.

"Yeah, the Tuesday. He was like sneakin' around that night in like all black bathrobes or some shit, like he thought he was a ninja. He looked through the two smaller houses first, no more'n twenty minutes in each one, yeah? Then he went into the big one and didn't come out."

Yeah man, he was just gone," bottle-man interjected again. "Steph went a-lookin' for him when he didn't come out and he was gone man. Musta gone out some back way or some shit."

"He didn't see you, didn't speak to you, didn't ask you anything?"

"Naw man, he didn't say nothing to no-one when we was around," the final man answered. Up until that moment he'd not spoken more than the 'fuck' he'd uttered when Harry had appeared in their midst.

That wasn't especially helpful. Harry decided to try a different tack. "What about the 'thing' then. What actually happened?"

"Hey, man, we—" the first man started, before being interrupted by baseball-guy.

"It was crazy, yeah?" he said quickly, his eyes wide with excitement. "They've been calling her Poison Ivy, yeah? Like this absolute bombshell babe who's crazy as shit about plants or someshit? I tell you, man, crazy or not, I wouldn't mind tending that garden, you know what I mean?"

"She's who was working in the glasshouses?" Harry asked. He really didn't want to know about the man's fantasies.

This time it was the man who'd had the bottle that answered. "Not just working, man, living. Like all the time. She was some hot ass, man, but she was mean as a pitbull too. After what happened to Miguel we all learned to keep our distance."

Harry opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but was cut off before he could even start.

"Fucking fed him to her one of her plants. Like, no shit." Baseball bat guy started getting into his story as he spoke and began waving his arms around wildly. "He was straight-up eaten, yeah? Like he was a snickerdoodle or some shit. Crazy shit too. Like one of them octopussys or something. All tentacles and shit covered in fucking spikes, yeah?" They all shuddered, clearly remembering the moment.

"So what happened?" Harry asked. "Someone told the police, and they took her in, I assume?"

The woman laughed as she was helping her friend to his feet, though it was more like a derisive snort than any true laugh. "All the pigs in the city couldn't have taken her down. It was the Batman that did it."

The word Batman garnered a strange response from the rest of the group. The guy Harry had put on his arse got a hunted look on his face and his eyes started darting around, searching shadows. The others responded with some combination of fear, dislike, and awe.

"Fucking Batman, man!"

"Yeah, the goddamn Batman!"

"Don't say his fuckin' name, man. Bart said his name and next day he was in the pigpen with a broken fuckin' face!"

Harry had no idea who or what the 'Batman' was. "What's that? A gang or something?"

"Nah, man, the Batman fuckin' eats gangers," said the one with the baseball bat. "He's like a fuckin' demon or some shit, man. I'm telling you, that monster ain't human."

The bottle-wielder added, "No way, no how. Irish Pete saw him get shot, and he just kept coming, like the terminator or some-shit. No way that shit's human. The way I hear it, some priest down in the Narrows is saying he's an angel of vengeance, come to cleanse Gotham of its sinful ways."

"Since when do you listen to priests?," said the woman. "He's been sayin' Gotham's gonna be destroyed for' the last fifteen years. Guy's crazier'n a sack of bees."

There was no denying that Harry was intrigued by whatever the 'Batman' was, but it wasn't why he was in Gotham. "Whatever. So the Batman took this woman down. Then what happened?"

"He disappeared, left her tied up," said the woman with a shrug. "Then the pigs came in later, when they figured it was safe. Carted her ass to the joint."

"And what about her weird plants?"

"Suits turned up and took them away too," said the man with the bottle. "Like CIA, FBI motherfuckers, man. Real men in black types."

"They weren't no CIA or FBI or nothing like that," said the quiet one. "They were from Wayne. I saw one of 'em give his card to some pretty lady-pig. Had the big W on it."

"Fuckin' Wayne man. Same fucking shit as CIA, I say," said the man with the bottle. "Only you fuck with the CIA, they kill you. Fuck with Wayne, they fuck you right back till you kill yourself."

The name Wayne did ring some bells, and it was certainly a lead, but he needed to make sure he didn't miss anything crucial. "Who are Wayne? Why do they want the plants?"

"Who the fuck knows, man. It's fucking Wayne. Probably saw that there was some shit in Gotham they handn't already fuckin' stolen and swooped in." That statement by the baseball player got nods from all his companions.

That was why it rang bells. It seemed that half of Gotham was if not directly owned by Wayne then at very least funded by one of their many subsidiaries. If Neville had worked out it was a group of people from one of the Wayne companies that had picked up the plants, then that surely had to have been his avenue for investigation.

The obvious place to start was Wayne Tower. It dominated the skyline of the city, the huge stylised 'W's on each side proudly proclaimed its supremacy. That must have been Neville's next move.

"Well, gentlemen," Harry said, before nodding at their sole female member. "Madam. I won't say it has been a pleasure, but you held up your side of the bargain."

He reached into his coat again and pulled out a few more fifties. He handed a couple to each of the group before quickly stepping back. He could see the thought pass through their minds that a man with 10 fifties probably had more, but fortunately they all seemed to think better of it. With a somewhat relieved 'Thank you', Harry made a hasty exit before they changed their minds.

This time he didn't take flight into Gotham's night sky. It was getting late, and thanks to both the time-difference and the company, it had been a very long day indeed. With a twist and a snap, Harry disapparated. He was looking forward to seeing if he'd gotten his money's worth with the beds in his hotel suite.


	3. Chapter 3

Wayne Tower from the air was impressive, but Wayne Tower from the ground was down-right majestic. Objectively, Harry knew that the tower was only a few decades old, and that the city had been thriving for much much longer than that, but it was hard to remember that when he saw Wayne Tower up close.

He was reminded of some of the smaller towns or villages back home which had in their centre a massive church or cathedral, far larger than such a small town could ever need. They looked like they had grown up around their central edifice. Every house had views of the church, every road ran towards it. Every shop or convenience was clustered around it, as close as they could get. It was like the church was a fire, and the entire village had to huddle around it for warmth.

That was Wayne Tower and Gotham. Only, in Gotham, it was on a whole different scale. In Gotham, it seemed that the most important thing for any piece of real-estate was its distance from, connection to, or views of Wayne Tower. All around it the endemic Gotham skyscrapers reached higher and higher, reaching, striving to touch the unattainable.

The most important detail for Harry, though, was that it was a very big building indeed. More than a hundred floors, thousands of rooms to search, and even more people to avoid. He was going to have his work cut out for him if he wanted to discover what Neville had been up to.

The direct approach was probably the best way to start. He walked through the front doors and found himself at the back of a short queue to get through some internal barriers.

There were a dozen large men standing at various points around that section of the foyer, clearly working security. At the head of the queue another couple of muscular security types were efficiently conducting searches on the people who wished to enter. The whole process moved like clockwork. One waved a black plastic wand-like thing around the person in question, while the other dabbed at their hands and shoes with a bit of fabric on a stick. Moments later both machines beeped, and they moved on to the next person.

In the interest of remaining unremarkable, Harry took up his place at the back of the queue and waited patiently for his turn. As expected, he was found to be harmless by their checks and he was waved through into the main reception area. It was every bit as grand as the exterior of the building would suggest, all marble and polished granite. Busy-looking men and women crisscrossed the floor, all dressed in sharp muggle business attire.

At the rear of the foyer, between two wide avenues leading further into the building was the reception desk, staffed by a half-dozen receptionists, and presided over by a huge glossy black W.

The receptionists were all fairly young, and a nearly even mix of men and women. All were well dressed, as seemed to be the norm, and had an ID badge pinned to their top. In fact, Harry quickly noted that all of the employees wore similar badges. Not far away, just a short distance down one of the avenues, Harry saw another set of security barriers, and as he watched, a well-dressed man flashed his ID badge and was waved through by yet another member of the security personnel. Wayne Enterprises clearly took their security very seriously.

As well they might, they were headquartered in Gotham, after-all.

One of the receptionists, this one a young woman, and probably the junior member of the team if age was anything to go by, looked up as Harry approached. She graced him with a pleasant smile. "Good morning sir. Welcome to Wayne Tower, how may I assist you today?"

Junior, perhaps, but she still clearly had plenty of experience in the job. Her voice had the tone of someone who'd had to say that line a thousand times before, and who'd achieved an optimal blend of indifference and charm.

Harry shot her his own polite smile in return. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he said making sure to not sound too much like he was in law enforcement. He figured his chances of getting information as a concerned friend were higher than if he tried to bluff his way through. Some might have been tempted to smooth the road with a little light Confundus, but Harry had himself been instrumental in getting Hermione's new muggle protection laws passed. What would it say if he was willing to throw them aside as soon as they became troublesome? "He was coming here, but we haven't seen him in a week. I wonder if you can help me?"

"Of course, sir," she said, and Harry wasn't able to tell if the concern in her voice was genuine or not. Definitely both experienced and well trained. "I can report your friend's disappearance to the proper authorities, and we will do everything we can to assist them in their investigation."

Not only were they cagey about physical security, but they clearly gave a lot of thought to information security too. He decided it was worth trying to push, though. "Look, I just need to know if he even made it in here," he said, trying to play up the concerned friend angle. He quickly pulled out his picture of Neville and set it on the desk. "Look, here's a picture. Did he come in here last week?"

She hid it well, but Harry was able to catch the briefest glimmer of recognition before it was quickly hurried away behind her professional mien. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, and again did an admirable job of sounding completely sincere, "but without a missing person's report, I can't give out any information on people who may or may not be associated with Wayne Enterprises or its subsidiaries."

For once in his life, Harry found himself wishing someone was less competent. It was clear that he wasn't going to get anything more from the woman. Then, just as he was putting Neville's photo back into his pocket, a man came up next to him. He, too, had one of the ubiquitous Wayne Enterprises ID-cards pinned to his jacket. His stance, well balanced and just out of Harry's reach, suggested he was another member of the security team.

"Sir," the man said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. "Could you come with me please? I'd appreciate it if you could help me with some questions I have."

Harry glanced around, and noticed a minute change in the attitudes of the other security personnel arranged around the foyer. It was barely noticeable, and indeed it was probably only Harry that had noticed it, but they were watching him carefully. A few subtly unbuttoned jackets, a hand or two removed from pockets, they were preparing themselves for a potential fight.

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Harry asked, making sure to look suitably concerned. What had Neville gotten into? "I'm just looking for my friend."

"It's nothing to worry about, sir," said the guard. He turned and gestured for Harry to follow. "There was an incident last week that may have some connection to your friend, and we'd just like to ask a few questions. For clarification, and perhaps your peace of mind, you understand?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, starting to follow the man. "So Neville _was_ here then?"

"As Marie said, we're not at liberty to say, sir," the man said, though in all honesty Harry thought it was more for the look of the thing. Anyone with a couple of brain cells to rub together would know that Neville had indeed been present, and had probably been noticed doing something untoward. "We were unable to ascertain the perpetrator's identity with any degree of certainty, but an attempt was made to gain access to some of the secure areas of this tower."

The man led Harry quickly through a set of doors, unlocked by the ID-card attached to his jacket, down a short corridor and into a small waiting room. Unlike the foyer, this room was simply decorated, and had a few uncomfortable looking chairs lined up against the walls. There were, obviously, no windows but the walls had a number of generic city-skyline type pictures. One poster, which Harry particularly appreciated, had a picture of an unattended piece of baggage, with the caption 'Constant Vigilance'.

"Take a seat, sir." The man said it pleasantly enough that Harry was confident this wasn't going to be one of _those_ interrogations. They would be going for the softly-softly approach, which worked just fine for him. There was a good chance they'd let-slip something useful. "We're sorry for the inconvenience, but would it be possible for you to tell me your name?"

"Harvey Wilkins," Harry said. In truth, using his real name wouldn't have given them anything more to work with than the pseudonym did. He just felt he wouldn't be doing his one-man off-the-books rogue investigation right if he gave a real name.

"Alright, Mr. Wilkins, I'm Jamie Barrie, I'm the day-shift security supervisor here," said the newly identified Jamie. "I just wanted to ask you about your friend. It's possible he was involved in that incident I mentioned. I think you had a picture which you showed to Marie at the desk, do you mind letting me take a look?"

"Uh, sure." Harry quickly withdrew his conjured photo once again and handed it across to Jamie.

Once again, Harry caught the slightest indication that Jamie recognised Neville. A slight tightening of the lips, a flare of the nostrils. Whatever Neville had done, it had pissed him off.

"I can't say I recognise him," Jamie said, clearly lying. "But I don't see everyone that comes through here personally. What was the purpose of his visit, do you know?"

That was a question the best answer to which Harry hadn't really considered. He certainly couldn't answer honestly. 'Oh, he was wanting to take a look through whichever super-secret laboratory it was that contained Poison Ivy's weird plants' would probably not lead to any useful information before Harry was chucked out on his arse.

"Huh?" he said, playing for time as he concocted a reasonable excuse. "He was wanting to talk to someone about something at the botanic gardens, I think? He was really into that kind of thing. I think we just figured he was wanting Mr. Wayne to donate something interesting to the collection there."

For an off-the-cuff excuse pulled out of his own arse, Harry thought it sounded pretty good. As he spoke, Harry noted that Jamie's eyes narrowed just slightly. After a moment he pulled out a small dog-eared notebook. "Do you mind if I note some of this down?" he asked, it was obvious he only asked for politeness-sake, as he started jotting down a couple of notes even before Harry agreed.

Harry tried to surreptitiously sneak a look at the notes he was taking, but like all things Wayne related, the man seemed frustratingly sharp, and made sure to keep whatever he was jotting down out of Harry's sight.

"Well, if you have a typed proposal for what your friend was hoping to bring before Mr. Wayne, perhaps I can try and get it to him," Jamie said, looking up from his notes. "I can't promise anything. Mr. Wayne is, as you can imagine, a very busy man, but I'll see what I can do."

That was a very politik way of saying 'Mr. Wayne is an obdurate layabout and inveterate womaniser who would much rather spend his time surrounded by russian gymnasts than a single second looking over proposals for charitable funding of the Botanic Gardens.' Harry had done some research on who exactly Bruce Wayne, the ultimate owner of all the Wayne companies, was. In this case, research constituted reading some news-papers and gossip magazines. It hadn't taken long for him to realise that whoever was calling the shots at Wayne Enterprises, it certainly wasn't the poster-child for spoiled trust-fund kids everywhere.

"One last question, if you don't mind," Jamie continued. "Did your friend say when his appointment was, exactly? He did have one, right?"

Harry chuckled briefly, as if the idea of trying to see Bruce Wayne without an appointment was completely ridiculous. "Well, I'd assume so. Bruce Wayne is hardly the type of man you can just walk up to and ask for five minutes of his time." Unless you happened to be a ladies activewear model, of course. Though in that case the meeting may end up running somewhat longer than planned. "No idea when it was, though. He just told me on, uh, Tuesday night that he was going to be coming around here."

"Well, anyway, thank you for your help sir. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance in locating your friend," said Jamie, flipping his notebook closed and standing up. Clearly their little interview was over. "If the GCPD wish to see our CCTV footage from that day to aid them in their search, we'll be happy to provide whatever help we can."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry said, taking pains to look suitably disappointed that his search had seemingly come up empty. "I suppose I'll have to leave it to the professionals, eh?"

"I'd recommend it, sir," said Jamie seriously as he led Harry back towards the foyer. "Gotham can be dangerous for those not familiar with it. Even life-long Gothamites can end up in the wrong street at the wrong time. It's not a good city to go poking around in. Never know what kind of crazies you might run into."

"Advice noted." And duly ignored. Harry shook a proffered hand as he was finally released back into the foyer. "Well, have a good day, I suppose," Harry said by way of farewell.

Jamie's smile didn't reach his eyes, which had the far-off look of someone thinking about other things. "Have a good day, sir," he said as he tipped his head and turned to leave.

It was the work of a moment to cast a couple of quick duplication spells, one on the ID badge, and another on the little notebook still held in his left hand. Harry stuffed his ill-gotten gains into a pocket, and walked quickly back out the front doors.

He walked along the road in a randomly chosen direction, dodging in and out of the flow of people on the pavement, until he saw a small, modern looking cafe nestled into one corner of the ground floor of another looming office block.

It was still only mid-morning, and so while the cafe was by no means empty it was not as busy as it would likely get come lunch-time. It had that old familiar smell of roasted coffee permeating the air, shared by most such places. Thanks to the pane-glass front, coupled with high ceilings, it was bright and airy. Perhaps there was at least one architect working in Gotham that disagreed with the sentiment that dark, brooding and Gothic worked _everywhere._

As there was no queue, Harry decided to order himself a drink. That seemingly simple action proved far more complicated than he thought necessary. It took him a couple of minutes to divine that the normal coffee he desired was a 'flat white'. He had absolutely no idea what the other options were, and he really didn't want to ask. Wasn't a Mochaccino a kind of small furry animal?

When the tattooed boy behind the counter had asked Harry what kind of milk he wanted, he'd received such a flat and unamused look in response that he'd just looked embarrassed and said a little 'Uh, never-mind' before setting to work.

Along one wall were ten or so little booths which offered more privacy than the normal tables. With his newly acquired coffee in hand, Harry slid himself onto the bench of one of the booths near the back wall. He took a quick sip of the coffee, which he immediately regretted after discovering it to be scalding hot. He set it aside to cool a bit, and instead popped out his duplicated notebook and ID-card and set them on the table.

The ID-card was fairly simple. It was just a little white rectangle of plastic with a picture of Jamie, and a funny little pattern of boxes with a little Wayne 'W' emblem in the middle. He flipped it over and found nothing else of interest. Even on closer inspection he still couldn't find a name on the card. Maybe it was an anti-theft measure. He set it aside for the time being.

The notebook was one of those little black ring-bound flip-book ones and was filled with tightly spaced notes in the spidery shorthand of someone who preferred to do as little actual writing as possible. He wasn't particularly interested in most of what it contained and so flipped through to around the same point he reckoned Jamie had had it open at.

It took a couple of minutes before he was able to find the right page. It didn't have much on it, but what it did have was potentially useful, though Jamie's handwriting was borderline unreadable:

_Wed Intrdr: Neville?_

_Tgt mby btny dpt._

_Chk bsmnt 2 + lab 5._

_Harvey Wilkins?_

_Pull cctv pic, chk gcpd + fbi + Neville._

_Assoc? Isley?_

On a hunch, Harry flicked back through the notebook a few pages until another caught his eye:

_Secr doors unlckd: Foyer + lvtr + flors 2-19. How?_

_No key, ovride._

_ir cams only, humn? invisible?_

The next page held some additional notes:

_Itrdr id: english. 1.8m? brn hair. brn eys._

_went to wc, never left._

_srchng f/ wt?_

Harry sat back and rubbed his forehead as he thought through it all. Clearly Neville had tried to be careful, but he was no Auror, and had no idea just how sophisticated muggle security had gotten.

He must have thought that disillusioning himself would be enough. Maybe he silenced himself too, but that wouldn't help with infrared cameras. Hell, if their CCTV was high quality enough, Harry doubted the disillusionment would hold up to normal visible-light cameras. He'd clearly searched through the building looking for Poison Ivy's killer plants, and unlocked whatever he needed to unlock, not realising that it might be noticed. It wasn't like he could _lock_ the doors behind himself, and clearly someone _had_ noticed a lot of the security doors suddenly deciding to forgo being secure for an afternoon.

As he took another sip of his now much more palatable coffee, Harry tried to think up a plan of action. The good news was that while they had been able to get a picture of Neville, they still would never be able to find anything on him, and nor would they find anything on 'Harvey Wilkins'. They'd be at a dead-end, but Harry wasn't completely sure he wasn't also at a dead-end.

It looked like whatever Neville was looking for might be on the second basement level, but it also didn't look like he'd actually discovered that, as his presence had only been noted on above-ground floors.

After some more thought and a glance around the room, Harry pulled out a communication mirror and transfigured it until it took the form of a small device that looked very much like a muggle mobile phone. The constant march of muggle technology had finally reached a point where talking to a bit of glass held in your hand was actually something that they actually did with some regularity.

"Padma," Harry said into the mirror. He only had to wait a moment before the harried-looking face of his assistant replaced his own.

"Just a sec," she said before looking off at something outside the field-of-view of her mirror. "Quigley! Put that idiot out before he sets the whole bloody office alight!"

"I thought I asked that you not to burn the place down while I was away," Harry commented lightly.

"Shut it, Potter," said Padma, not even glancing at him. "What the hell do you mean 'where's the fire extinguisher'? Look, _Aguamenti!_ "

The sound of rushing water and a surprised bubbling noise followed, and Harry sat back in his seat waiting for her to get things back under control again. If he had an amused smile on his face, he felt it was completely warranted. "Mr Ignatious again?" he said when Padma had finished chewing out their newest trainee.

"Why haven't we taken his bloody wand off him again?" she said tired as she dropped into a seat. "The man's a menace."

"Do you really think it would help?" he said, still grinning. It was nice to for once not be the one getting his eyebrows burned off. "He can make a flobberworm spontaneously combust."

"Laugh it up while you can," she said, giving him the stink-eye. She composed herself, and Harry saw her flicking her wand around the office a few times, likely cleaning up the remaining mess. "Now, did you have a reason for calling me?"

"Uh, a few reasons actually," he said. It was likely that she would find some way to make him pay for finding amusement at her expense, but that was a problem for later. "Looks like the plants Neville was wanting to look for were picked up by some muggles before he got here."

"That's not good. Do we know what the plants were?" Padma asked, managing to look more awake by the second.

"I picked up some leaves and seeds and such from the greenhouses where it was being kept," said Harry, fishing it out of one of his enlarged interior pockets. "I'll portkey it over to the office for someone to have a look at later today. Maybe see if Susan can identify it. If not, have someone take it along to Sprout, I'm sure she'll be able to tell us."

"Will do, how important is this?"

"No need to rush really," said Harry after a moment's thought. "But it might be useful to have an answer by end of play today. If that's not manageable, though, don't worry about it. How's the prep for the Brady hearing going?"

"We've had to kick Constantine out of the Ministry at least three times over the last couple of days, you know what he's like," said Padma, sounding vaguely irritated at the mere thought of the man.

It didn't take much to work out what she meant by that. Constantine was a misanthropic bastard, and a wild card par-excellence, but in some things he could be predictable. "This is beyond your feeble ken, foolish wand-wavers, etc, etc, etc?"

"Got it in one, though obviously he doesn't have quite your way with words," Padma said, smirking slightly.

"So you told him to fuck off back to Liverpool, yeah?"

Padma's smirk grew a little wider. "Again, not in so many words."

"Well, you might want to send someone to talk to him," said Harry, recalling what he'd been told by Quahog. "Seems his old buddy Zatara might be back from the dead and our American cousins reckon there's a chance he wants to settle a debt."

"Giovanni Zatara? What debt?"

"Seems our friend Constantine's knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time is catching," said Harry by way of explanation. "I don't know the whole story, but apparently him and Constantine were trying to fight some kind of dark magic curse and something went wrong, leading to Giovanni's untimely demise.

"And the Americans think Constantine might be in danger?" If anything, Padma looked quite pleased at that particular possibility.

"Maybe, but I doubt it," said Harry with a sad shake of his head. "They would like us to get some answers on just what he and Zatara were actually doing when he died. Maybe send Quigley."

"But Quigley's just a trainee, and he's probably going to fail his next assessment anyway. I mean, fire extinguisher, really" said Padma, a thoughtful frown coming over her features "Besides, Constantine never answers any questions. It's always 'Best you don't know', or 'Pray you never find out', or even better some straight-up bollocks. Remember his explanation for that obvious case of possession last year?"

Harry thought back, then remembered. "Stag-do gone wrong, my arse. But that's the point. Doesn't matter who we send, we'll get nothing, so it's a waste of time anyway. Better to waste a trainee's time than someone actually useful."

"Gotcha," said Padma, catching on at last. It was probably the early hour that had slowed her down on the uptake. "Good idea. I'll tell him when he gets back from dropping Mr Ignatious off at St Mungos."

"Again, no rush," said Harry. He downed the rest of his coffee. "Don't want the yanks to think we're their lackeys. Maybe leave it for a couple of days."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"I think that's it," said Harry after a moment's thought. "Unless there's anything you have for me?"

"I asked Suz and Hannah if Neville had spoken to them about what he was doing," said Padma. She looked troubled. "Did you know that his mum died a couple of weeks back?"

That was news to him. He'd spoken to Neville just before he'd left for Gotham, and while he'd seemed a little distant, Harry had just put it down to him being preoccupied with thoughts of his trip. "He never mentioned it," he said, frowning.

"Seems he didn't say anything to anyone," said Padma. "Suz only knew because she actually works at St Mungos. Didn't want the pity, maybe?"

"What about Frank?"

Padma shook her head sadly. "He's not looking too good either. They reckon he misses her somehow."

Harry hummed. That cast Neville's potential disappearance in a completely different light. There was a chance he'd just taken the opportunity to get away from things for a while. Why choose Gotham, though? "Anything else?"

"Everything's under control here," said Padma before her smirk slowly returned. "Seems you're not as necessary for the smooth running of the Ministry and we thought. Well, apart from bloody Ignatious, anyway, but he doesn't count. I hear your girlfriend is on the war-path though."

"She's not my girlfriend," he said firmly, putting the question of Neville's potential reasons for pulling a disappearance act to the back of his mind. "I only asked her to that do to piss off Malfoy."

"Well, it seems you failed to mention that to her," said Padma, clearly enjoying herself.

"Urgh. Look, I'll deal with Greengrass later. If I find my head getting too big while I'm over here, it's good to know I can always give you a shout," said Harry, allowing her the point. "Do get back to me when you find out what it was that Neville was looking for."

"Will do, Harry." Her eyes suddenly focussed again on something off-mirror. "What are you—Quigley!"

"Thanks P—" But the mirror had already gone clear again, and Harry found himself staring at his own face once more.

He leaned back in his seat and gently knocked his head against the backrest. Daphne bloody Greengrass was the last thing he needed to worry about. He sincerely hoped she got the message soon. Despite what Padma seemed to think, she hadn't even _liked_ him when they'd been on their date. He had no idea what her problem was.

With a frustrated grunt, he rose from his seat and ordered another coffee, this time the process was much less painful than before. He'd need the energy, he had to come up with the next move in his investigation.

Neville had clearly investigated Wayne quite extensively while he was there, but trying to work out what he might have found while there seemed difficult in the extreme. Harry could wander around Wayne tower for hours or even days and not find anything that might point him in the direction Neville had gone.

On the other hand, he had very little else to go on. Really, that made the decision for him. Perhaps he'd get lucky.

He turned again to the ID-card. He knew that he'd have to be careful trying to use it. It was entirely possible that they were monitored, like the doors were and that one person turning up in multiple places might flag up some kind of alarm. But it might also be useful if he just needed to look legitimate in order to interrogate someone.

Turning his body to help conceal his wand from the rest of the room, Harry started a fiddly bit of transfiguration. He wasn't changing the card into anything else, he was merely changing something in the card, and for some reason that was entirely more difficult. He could change a mouse into a moose with greater ease than he could change an ID-card into an identical ID-card with an altered picture.

His somewhat foggy memories of the theory involved suggested that it was because the similarity of the begin- and end-state meant they occupied the same conceptual space. Transfiguration was easy when you wanted to move something from one conceptual space, say 'small spiky animal' to another closely related space, like 'small spiky cushion'. It got harder when the two conceptual spaces were more removed from one-another, and it got downright difficult when they were actually the same.

It meant the caster had to find some kind of internal subdivision of the conceptual space the objects occupied. When that division had to be at the level of what image was displayed on the card? Definitely fiddly.

He could simply charm the card so that any muggles who chose to look at it would see nothing untoward, but he'd seen what Neville's assumptions had resulted in. It was probably better to take no chances. So, instead of even attempting such a potentially troublesome piece of transfiguration Harry did something that was often not immediately obvious to ordinary witches and wizards.

He first transfigured the card into a small plaid handkerchief, its pattern looking a little like the boxy pattern on the card, and monogrammed with the Wayne 'W'. Then, he transfigured it into an ID card again, only this time he made sure the picture it showed was his own.

It wasn't quite as easy as if he'd simply been transfiguring the handkerchief in the first instance. In such cases it was normal for the residual form to try and reassert itself during the second transfiguration, but secondary transfiguration was something Harry liked to keep sharp. It was a valuable skill for use in magical combat. In his current situation, it was also much easier than trying to merely change the image in one step.

The result was an ID card that was very nearly identical to what he'd started with, but with an image of Harry himself instead of Jamie. If Harry was being honest with himself, he'd have to admit that it looked more like a picture of his brother, but he'd never been all that good at the little details. In a fight, it was the general form and shape that was important. It would do, though.

Content with his work, Harry finished up his second coffee, and made his way out of the café, back into the busy streets of Gotham.


	4. Chapter 4

Lunch-time was fast approaching, and the streets were filled with traffic, as the thousands of office workers left the safety of their towers to venture out in search of food. On more than one occasion, Harry was forced to push past groups of people crowded around road-side food stalls, but he didn't have far to go to get back to Wayne Tower.

When he neared his destination, he ducked into one of Gotham's ubiquitous alleyways. Despite Gotham's fearsome reputation, it was abandoned, and looked very much like the alleyways of any other major city. He walked along it until he reached a pair of especially disgusting bins and, taking care not to touch them, he ducked between them and threw on his invisibility cloak before heading back towards the main street.

Despite the fact that he was invisible, he still had to be careful walking around underneath it. Even seasoned Gothamites might notice walking into an invisible man. The important thing, however, was that it would deal with the limitations of Disillusionment that had led to Neville being found out.

Unlike the charm which simply applied a fairly naive camouflage that was typically only good enough to fool a casual observer, the Invisibility Cloak hid the wearer from sight, no caveats. Oh, sure, it didn't make him weightless, or silent. Nor did it make him insubstantial, but he was completely invisible, and there was no kind of sight that would be able to locate him. A quick silencing charm would ensure that he'd remain undetected.

Moving much more carefully, he navigated the crowds again for the remaining short walk to Wayne Tower. It took a few abortive attempts, and one near disaster where he only narrowly escaped being caught between the doors as they closed, but he was soon able to slip in through the exit doors without anyone noticing anything amiss.

Thanks to his choice of door, he was able to bypass the security barriers completely. The security guard watching the door for people entering the wrong way was completely unaware of his presence as Harry walked by, just a few feet of distance separating them. He'd forgotten how much fun the Cloak could be. He made his way across the grand marble floor to the inner security checkpoint he'd seen before. It was a fairly simple affair. Just a single member of the security team, this time a middle-aged and humourless looking woman with greying hair tied in a tight bun. She was scanning people's ID cards, checking something on a little screen, then waving them through.

Harry simply walked by her, completely unnoticed.

Once through, he was into the main hub of the building. Two walls lined with lifts which were, in turns, disgorging a constant stream of people. At the far end of the space was a large, wide set of sweeping stairs that would have been more at home in a country manor than an office building.

He looked at the banks of lifts for a moment before deciding against them. It was much too close to lunch-time, and the lifts were busily transporting people to and from their desks as they either left for, or returned from, their break. Trying to squeeze into a lift which may pick up an unknown number of office workers, and then avoid bumping into them was not a sensible plan. Even if by some miracle he did avoid tipping someone off to his presence, he'd basically have to rely on luck to get to the second basement level if he wanted to avoid suspicion.

Instead, Harry elected to take the stairs. He was going to try the basement lab where the plants were possibly being held first, and that shouldn't be too difficult to get to. He wouldn't have to climb the whole tower.

The door to the stairs was, as it seemed all doors were in Wayne Tower, locked and keyed to the ubiquitous ID-cards. It also had a little window which showed that the staircase beyond was empty, as it likely always was unless there was some kind of emergency evacuation. Harry simply apparated to the other side, the usual quiet pop of apparation completely silenced thanks to his charm-work.

It didn't take long to descend the four flights of stairs needed to reach the second basement level where, again, he apparated passed the door and into the corridor beyond. He looked around.

Unlike the upstairs areas, the basement areas clearly had a much more utilitarian design. They weren't built to impress like the foyer, and it was likely a rare occurrence that the higher-up money men had to delve into their depths. As a result, accountants had ensured that the floor was covered in a hard-wearing linoleum, and the walls were little more than white-washed concrete. Here and there they were studded with doors into what Harry assumed were labs or offices.

Unlike the upstairs area, the basement was fairly quiet. Every now and then Harry heard the thunk of a closing door, and he saw one or two people bustling around, faraway looks on their faces. Harry suspected that if it was only the people he needed to worry about, he'd be able to walk around completely in the open.

He got the feeling that the people down there probably had a lot in common with the witches and wizards down in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry made his way along the corridor, inspecting each door as he went by. Every now and then he had to take a step to the side to avoid someone going about their business. Most were dressed in ordinary muggle office clothes, but a couple of them wore long white lab-coats. Neither of them had come from lab 5, however.

Luck, as it turned out, was with him. As he passed by another bank of lifts, or maybe they were the same ones as he'd seen above, he heard a ding and he turned to see the doors opened to reveal the security supervisor from earlier. Jamie, Harry remembered. He was flicking through his notebook and had a thoughtful look on his face as he exited the lift and started to make his way through the maze of corridors with an ease borne of familiarity. On a hunch, Harry elected to follow.

That hunch, as it turned out, was a good one. It would surely have taken him a long time to locate lab 5 otherwise. The lab was not, as Harry had suspected and like all good logic might suggest, in any way close to labs 4 or 6. Instead, reaching it required passing through a further two security controlled doors, and a final checkpoint manned by two more bored-looking corporate security types.

The arrival of Jamie had caused a minor stir and Harry was sure he saw a book being hastily shoved into a cubby on the little desk. If Jamie saw it, though, he gave no indication. Instead, he greeted the two security personnel companionably. After a short conversation, which Harry largely tuned out as it was mostly pleasantries, Jamie continued through the checkpoint and Harry followed, silent and unseen. The two security guards returned to their vigil, and even before they were out of sight, the one who had been reading had pulled his book back out, and was swinging back on his chair as he continued. Down this far, it seemed like things were pretty quiet. Security was by no means lax by design, but routine was always the enemy of vigilance.

Finally, he was led into a large, busy room. Busy, not because of the number of people, in fact there were only four people that Harry could see from the door. It was busy because it was full of both equipment and the plants Neville had been looking for. Either Harry hadn't realised just how many items had been removed from the Botanic Gardens, or there was more in lab 5 than just Poison Ivy's collection.

Nearest to the door were a few desks, occupied by some men in lab coats. Each had a computer in addition to, if not mountains, at least respectable foothills of paperwork and other miscellanea. Lego models; those little clacky ball desk toys, the name of which completely escaped Harry; framed pictures of family and friends; a few soft toys. One desk was guarded by a life-size mannequin dressed in shiny white plastic armour. A stormtrooper, Harry's distant childhood memories supplied.

While the detail might be different, the impression was the same. The people who worked at those desks would have fit right in among the weirdest of the Unspeakables.

Along the walls were a number of large machines. The only thing that Harry recognised there was a large high-power microscope. The purpose of everything else completely escaped him.

Behind the desks were a few more tables. Not desks, this time, but more like examination tables. They were already loaded up with dozens of different plant specimens each. Finally, towards the rear of the room, there was a large greenhouse, lit by huge strip-lights. Three of the people in the room, all men, were at their desks, while the last man could just be seen doing something in the greenhouse.

One of the occupants of the room looked up from his computer. "Oh, hey there uhhh..." He trailed off for a moment, and seemed to be looking at something on his screen. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Hey there, Mr. Barrie," he finished, his gaze returning to the here-and-now. Though sitting, Harry could see that he was one of those bean-pole types. Probably as a result of forgetting to eat while engrossed in research. His hair was greying, and his chin was displaying about a week's growth of stubble. It all added to the general image of untidiness, as it looked like he hadn't seen a comb in years. Harry knew he really shouldn't judge, but at least he tried. The man continued, "How're you doing? You need to take a look at these sequences! I've never seen anything like them!"

"Maybe you can try and explain that to me later, Niles. Though I warn you, it'll probably be Greek to me," said Jamie, wandering over to the man's desk. "For now, I need to ask you all about Wednesday. Did you notice anything strange?"

"You mean stranger than the species of... well, something, that looks like a fairly ordinary plant, albeit with teeth, but which actually represents the singular example of a heretofore unknown to science eukaryotic kingdom that possesses defining features previously thought to be unique to either plantae or animalia?" Niles said breathlessly. "It is completely amazing. Aware of its surroundings, instantly reactive to local stimuli, clearly predatory in a direct way entirely distinct from any known species, and yet clearly also a photoautotroph with a static root system. It may even have animal sentience!"

Jamie looked about as lost as Harry felt after that avalanche of words. All Harry was able to get from it was that the plant, which Harry could just see in the greenhouse towards the rear of the room, being fussed over by the man there. From a distance, Harry thought it looked a bit like a Venomous Tentacula. If it was then, under the bright lamps presumably set up for its benefit, it was looking very sorry for itself indeed. The leaves were withering and its many tentacles, which should be actively flailing due to the possibility of prey nearby, were hanging limply.

When Harry turned back, Jamie was once again talking. "Maybe not stranger than that," he said. "I mean, like people you didn't recognise? Doors opening and closing on their own, unlocked security doors?"

"Oh nothing like that!" said Niles, though it was clear his attention was once again being drawn to his monitor.

One of the other scientists wasn't so sure, though. "Well, there was that guy? Professor Longbottom? From England?" This man had a slightly mousy look to him, as if he would really much prefer he was in a dark corner eating cheese. He was short and skinny, with tufts of light brown hair and a long pointed nose that Harry could have sworn twitched when he sniffed after saying Neville's name.

"Mitch just didn't like him because he was hitting on Clara," said the guy next to him through a highly amused grin. Unlike the other two, this one seemed much more normal. He was tall, and his broad shoulders and slim waist suggested a fairly dedicated exercise regimen. Something Harry would not have expected from a researcher who spent much of his life hidden away from the sun. He had dark skin and hair and an open face that seemed to find no end of amusement in the world.

"I'm just saying there was something off about him," said Mitch, scowling at the other guy and folding his arms. "I've never even heard of the 'HSWW Institute', have you?"

The other guy's grin slipped a little. "Well, err, I guess not?"

"Wait, wait," said Jamie, his face serious. His hand dipped into his pocket and he pulled out a very modern-looking phone. He tapped on it for a few seconds before holding it up to the two bickering researchers. "Is this him?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's the guy," said Mitch, rapidly nodding his head. "See? I said he was bad news!"

Jamie swore under his breath. "And he was down here?"

This time it was Niles that answered. "Of course not. You know visitors aren't allowed down here, this lab's section-3. He was a, well to be honest, I thought he was a crank, like one of the genetic engineering crazies we get every now and then claiming to run a 'think-tank'?"

Now that would have been amusing, if Harry wasn't already worried about just how much Neville had managed to let slip to the muggles. HSWW Institute, really? Did the man have no imagination at all?

"Yeah, we met him upstairs," said Mitch, agreeing with Niles, whom Harry assumed was the team leader. "Clara was showing him around, and like Aki says, he was hitting on her big-time."

Jamie's notebook was back out and turned to an empty page. "What did he want to know?"

"Aside from Clara's bust-size you mean?" said Aki before being shoved good-naturedly by Mitch. Because of the size differential it meant that he wasn't even knocked off balance, instead Mitch just rebounded off him. Aki laughed the attempt off. "Hey, easy there! I'm just saying!"

"Well, somehow he knew about the Venenosa Tentareculum. That's what we're calling the one I was telling you about," said Niles, finally tearing himself away from his computer for long enough to focus on the conversation at hand. "At first I thought he'd managed to sneak it out of Clara, but he knew far too much about it. Even knew what kind of soil it needed. Wanted to see it."

"But you said no?" said Jamie, frowning thoughtfully.

Niles looked affronted. "Well of course I said no! I wasn't just going to let him waltz in here on a whim and steal our thunder. This discovery is going to rock the research community when we publish. Besides, like I said, we're section-3 until we've gone through all these specimens."

Jamie still didn't look satisfied. "So he didn't get anything?"

"Well, he got a date with Clara," supplied Aki, his cheeky grin back in place.

"Shut-up, Aki," said Mitch, the deadpan of his voice failing to hide the annoyance on his face.

Aki pretended he hadn't heard anything. "At La Sal too. Fancy. Very European."

Mitch gave up in his attempt at feigned indifference "I said shut-up Aki!"

"Aki, please leave him be," said Niles with a long-suffering sigh. "As I was saying, no. He didn't get anything from us. We led him to believe that we were keeping the specimens in a secure off-site location, and eventually he gave up."

"And after the meeting, there was nothing strange?" Jamie asked, pushing gamely through the by-play.

"No?" said Niles, sounding much less sure this time. "Like what?"

"The guy might have some way of going... well, going invisible?"

There was a long moment of silence before all three spoke at the same time.

"You what!?"

"Suhweet!"

"How can that be possible?"

"Look, I know it seems impossible, but believe me, we have video evidence," said Jamie, trying in vain to calm them down. Harry resisted the urge to swear. Jamie continued, "Bearing that in mind, did anything unusual happen after the meeting?"

"Dude," Aki began, his excitement at the idea of someone with the ability to go invisible. "Can you imagine? He could have just slipped through the doors behind us and we'd have never noticed! Hey, what would you all do if you could turn invisible?"

Jamie groaned, and Harry felt some measure of sympathy for the man. "So you're saying you don't even know if he might have been down here?"

"Oh, that's easy, I could get rid of my Gotham City transit card," said Mitch, completely oblivious to Jamie's attempts to steer the conversation back on track. "They'd never be able to catch me!"

"...Dude," said Aki. "Just. Dude. That's it? No bank robbing, no fighting crime?"

"Why—"

"Well," said Niles loudly, cutting Mitch off before he could send them even further off the rails. "It's hard to prove a negative, all we can say is that we did not see any evidence that he did. Did you run over anyone in your car today?"

"My… What? No! What does that have to do with anything?" said Jamie, looking completely lost amid the twists and turns of their conversation.

"Ah, but how can you be sure?" asked Niles in the voice of one constructing an unassailable argument. "What if you clipped someone while you were distracted?"

"But I didn't…"

Harry started to lose interest in their conversation at that point and instead of continuing to listen as the researchers talked rings around the helpless security supervisor he moved towards the greenhouse where the plants were being kept. He felt a small amount of sympathy for the man, he'd been in his shoes more than once.

As he had noted on his entrance into the room, the fourth researcher was inside the greenhouse, poking at the plant, which Harry could see was indeed a Venomous Tentacula. And wasn't that a coincidence? What were the chances that the muggles would come up with a name for the plant that even sounded similar to the magical name? Harry suspected that Neville would be getting a firm slap on the wrists when he finally got home.

It looked mostly dead. While Neville had apparently told them the kind of soil it preferred, which if Harry remembered his Hogwarts years correctly was wet and loamy, he had neglected to tell them that unlike most plants it didn't actually like light at all.

It was surrounded by a number of spot-lights, and Harry could see it withering almost before his eyes.

He apparated silently into the greenhouse. He couldn't well leave the plant to the muggles, but he knew that Obliviating them wasn't much of a solution. Too many people were involved, and if Harry missed some, which he surely would, then it would surely only add to the panic caused by Neville's little jaunt. Ordinarily, he could call in a team, but in Gotham, with Carruthers looking for any excuse to jump down his neck?

Instead, he cast a muggle repelling charm on the greenhouse. Immediately, the lone researcher, this one a young man with flaming red hair that could have made him an honorary Weasley back home, looked at his watch and hurried away.

He then picked up a small stone from one of the other pots, and enlarged it until it was about the right size. Then, with careful focus, he transfigured it into a dead rosebush, pulling from a childhood memory of a really hot summer when Aunt Petunia's rose-bed had all wilted to nothing. Harry had been blamed, or course, and tasked with trying to resuscitate them. It had been a wasted effort, but at least it left him with a good mental image to work with. Moments later, the dead plant was ready.

With a quick switching spell, he swapped their pots, then he shrank the tentacula down so that it would fit into one of his expanded pockets. He wasn't sure what they'd done to it that had it looking so sorry for itself, and it looked about ready to shuffle off the mortal coil so it was likely it would die after any amount of time shoved into a pocket, but the more important thing was that the muggles didn't have it.

He cast his eye around the rest of the greenhouse, making sure that there were no other possible breaches of the statute of secrecy. While a lot of the plants looked very strange indeed, none of them was in any way magical.

Satisfied, he apparated back out into the lab where he found a thoroughly frustrated Jamie trying to beat his retreat. Seeing an opportunity for plausible deniability, Harry pulled out his wand again, and with a small jagged motion, cast one final spell on the biggest piece of equipment he could see.

A moment later every light in the room flashed and then immediately fused. Every computer suddenly turned off, and the room was plunged into darkness. Wasting no more time, Harry apparated away to the sound of surprised cursing.

When they got the power back, they'd find that the big machine had suffered some kind of critical error, which had caused a catastrophic over-charge in the room's electrics. The computers had all been fried. Even the disks would prove unreadable. It would be a long day, though, before they would be able to get to that point. Jamie's already bad day had just gotten a whole lot worse.

Nice and clean. A job well done, Harry decided.


	5. Chapter 5

That evening, Harry decided to do things the muggle way. He had no idea where the Illusionist club was, and really only a vague idea of where the theatre district was. He could have found it himself, asked at the hotel desk or something, but in the end he decided the easiest plan of action was simply to catch a cab.

It was a remarkably painless process. The doorman hailed the cab for him, Harry told the driver where he wanted to go, and they were off. He was gratified to discover that he had not been saddled with a talkative driver, which his sparse awareness of muggle pop-culture had informed him was a real possibility. It allowed him more time to think.

He'd cleaned up most of the mess Neville had left in his wake at Wayne Tower. That was good news, at least. The bad news was that he still didn't feel all that much closer to actually locating him.

He was hoping to be able to pursue the restaurant lead just as soon as he'd finished Quahog's busywork. As the cab driver navigated the Gotham traffic with an enthusiasm that would surely have seen him getting a positive reference from Ernie Prang, Harry tried to recall the details Quahog had given him on Zatara's daughter. His years of experience had taught him that even the little things could prove important.

Young and powerful were the headliners. Likely trained under her father, possibly alongside the ever annoying Constantine. She was suspected of multiple breaches of the statute of secrecy in the form of her stage show in which she pretended to be a real magician. And wasn't that a hoot? Faking fake magic using real magic? He couldn't help but admire her daring.

He sincerely hoped she hadn't learned her trade from John Constantine. He had managed to avoid collecting too many grey hairs on his path to Head Auror, but Constantine was the kind of wizard, sorry, occultist, that gave Aurors nightmares.

Take a few stone of narcissism, stew for a few years in a bath of conspiracy, poor choices and self-flagellation. Add a dash, or maybe a barrel, of alcohol and a generous helping of cynicism. Then all you needed to do was imbue it with both a hero-complex and a healthy dose of misanthropy and you got a passable simulacrum of Constantine. The man had a knack for finding trouble that rivaled even Harry's own, and a distrust of authority that made even Harry during the worst of his teenage years look like Hermione in primary school.

The result was a man who was frequently found in the vicinity of dead bodies or the results of some horrific dark spell or recently released entity from a place beyond mortal's ken. More often than not it was all three simultaneously. It was usually clear enough that the man wasn't directly responsible for whatever had happened, and the man had surely saved dozens of lives in his time, if not more, but he was still infuriating. Oh, and he never, ever, talked to the Aurors. Harry was convinced that even a well meaning 'How're you doing, John?' would be met with either stony silence or some kind of cynical jab.

He rarely, if ever, sought help and those few times when he did he demonstrated an especially poor ability to judge people. Usually they ended up being the cause of the problem in the first place, or they simply decided to leave Constantine in the lurch because he was such a gigantic arsehole. The man owned a flying house that Harry was convinced was run solely on the heat generated by all the bridges the man burned every day.

"Potter! I know you're there."

Harry groaned. He should have known that it was all going far too well. He pulled out his communication mirror, and in it he found the pretty, but more importantly irate, face of Daphne Greengrass. "Hey Daphne," he said off-handedly before frowning. "How are you contacting me?"

A shock of red hair pushed its way into view, and soon a sheepish Ron Weasley peering out of one of the corners of the mirror. "Sorry, mate, she came into the shop and said it was an emergency and—"

"I know what you're trying to do, you know," she said, brushing Ron's words aside, and shoving him out of view at the same time. "Do you really think I'm stupid?"

"I don't—"

She cut him off. "No? Well, in that case, let's cut the crap."

"Okay, then," said Harry. They had recently passed-by a couple of theatres, and his patience was wearing thin. "I don't think it'll work between us."

"No."

Harry paused. "No?"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" he said. On the face of it, she seemed to be agreeing with him, but nothing ever came so easily, especially not when you were dealing with Greengrass.

"No, as in you're not allowed to dump me," she said. She didn't seem cut up about it at all, it was like she was correcting him on the state of the weather outside. No, Harry, you moron, it's clearly not raining.

"Not allowed—"

She interrupted him again. "Correct. The only reason I acquiesced to your stupid request was so I could dump you. You will not take that from me."

His stupid request? He stared at her blankly. "What?"

"Did you really think I couldn't see that you were just using me to show Draco up?" she said dismissively. "I won't lie, it was a little amusing, but did you really think I would actually accept your offer of a date without my own motives?"

"Uh," said Harry, feeling more and more adrift by the second. "Kind of, yeah? Isn't that how it usually goes?"

The look she gave him made him feel as if he was twelve again. "Me and you, really? In what universe could that ever work out? Especially after what happened between you and—"

"Look, Greengrass, just tell me what you want. I'm kinda busy here."

"You will take me on a date to La Maison Bleu tomorrow evening, where I shall publicly dump you," she said simply. "I suggest you wear something dark, as I may be inclined to make creative use of the red wine."

There was no way he'd be back in the UK that soon if things continued to be as complicated as they had been so far. "You know what?" he said. "If it gets you off my back, sure. But make it next week."

A brilliant smile lit her face, which, Harry reflected, was about the only nice thing about her. How he'd let George talk him into that 'prank' in the first place, he'd never know. "Wonderful," she said.

"Can you hand me back to Ron?"

Satisfied that she'd got what she wanted, Daphne did just that. Without so much as a goodbye, the mirror was passed to Ron. With a swish of honey-blonde hair, she took her leave.

"Bloody hell, she's scary," said Ron, looking at something beyond the mirror in his hands. Probably Daphne, Harry surmised. She may be a grade-A pain in the arse, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with her own.

"Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way," said Harry acerbically. "Just what I needed."

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that," said Ron awkwardly. "She said you'd actually hit it off and I thought… you know?"

He knew exactly what Ron had thought, and it wasn't one he wanted to entertain. "Look, just don't let her call me again, yeah? Run for the hills if need be."

If anything, Ron looked a bit disappointed. "Don't need to tell me twice," he said, "but maybe you should give it a go. I know you and Ginny didn't work out, but you haven't had a proper girlfriend in ages."

"I've been busy, you know that," said Harry before he paused. He couldn't take a statement like that lying down. "Besides, when did you turn into your mum?"

"Harhar," said Ron, looking unapologetic. "You can't be busy for like five years at a go, Harry."

"Maybe you should try telling Hermione that." When Harry glanced up, he noticed that the taxi was pulling up outside an up-market looking club. That was perfect timing. "Look, I need to go. Say 'hi' to Hermione for me."

"Will do, stay safe mate," said Ron, apparently opting to take pity on him. "And good luck."

"Cheers."

He stowed the mirror back into a coat pocket and passed the driver his fare, plus a bit of a tip for providing the peace-and-quiet. He took a moment to steady himself, as Daphne's single marketable skill was the ability to unbalance anyone at any time, and Ron's impromptu intervention hadn't exactly helped. Finally, his focus restored, he stepped out of the door.

There was a line of people waiting to get into the club, and all of them were dressed for a classy night out. Suits and a few tuxedos were in evidence among the men, and every one of the women was wearing the full dress-heels-hair combo in an array of tasteful styles. Somewhat belatedly, he realised that he probably should have asked about any possible dress-code the club might have had. He certainly stood out in his slightly shabby dark brown long-coat.

He stepped around a corner and out of sight for long enough to change his clothing into something more respectable. He fixed up the frayed edges of his long-coat, and a colour-changing charm saw it fade into a refined dark grey. Another twirl of his wand saw the length shrink until it looked almost like an ordinary suit-jacket, albeit with very experimental styling. After a moment's thought he also changed the style to something more traditional.

His trousers weren't too bad, but another colour-changing charm soon had them matching the shade of his jacket. The casual shirt he'd been wearing was rumpled, but a quick steaming spell followed by another spell to give it that authentic starched look soon had him looking presentable.

It still probably wasn't up to the same kind of standards as their usual clientele, but it would pass muster. He then walked back around the corner, and joined the back of the queue. There was no need to draw attention to himself by using magic to sneak in. If Zatara's daughter had picked up even half of her father's skills, she'd likely notice it straight away. Even without pulling out his wand to check, Harry could feel that there was magic overlaying the club. Nothing dangerous or untoward, but enough that he felt confident she would at least be aware if some rogue magic user tried to sneak in.

Better to go in the front door, it was only polite.

The queue moved quickly, which was just as well as the familiar Gotham City rain rolled in just as Harry reached the doors. After a quick pat-down by a man who bore more than a passing resemblance to a gorilla he was waved inside.

The club was dark, but richly decorated. The flooring was tiered in a set of nested circles, with each tier set about a foot and a half above the last. Tables of different sizes were scattered across the tiers, each lit by a few long black candles. Many of the tables were already occupied, and so Harry was forced to take a seat at one of the few empty two-person tables towards the rear of the room.

At the bottom of the room, a small stage was set up, near the far wall. It was currently unoccupied except for a lone microphone, illuminated from overhead by a single spotlight.

Within moments of taking his seat, a young blonde woman wearing slim black trousers, a figure-hugging waistcoat and topped by a flamboyant top-hat arrived to take his order. Not seeing any harm in attempting to enjoy the evening, Harry elected for a simple whisky on the rocks. It wasn't Ogdens, but then very few things were. He took a small sip from his glass and inspected the rest of the room, this time for signs of magic.

He didn't have to look far. The telltale signs were everywhere. Pretty much everything in the room was transfigured, and charmed for comfort. He began to suspect that Zatanna Zatara was not merely a regular performer at the club, but it was likely that she was actually the owner. Surely she wouldn't go to such lengths for a simple weekly gig?

"Excuse me? Do you mind if I sit here?"

Harry looked up. A woman was standing by the free seat at his table. She was probably a few years younger than Harry, maybe 22 or 23 he reckoned. She was tall and slim with long, straight black hair which tumbled over her shoulders in a style that looked effortless, but which was probably pretty expensive to achieve. She was wearing a simple black dress which clung to a model's figure. Harry noted that she wasn't wearing any jewellery at all, which was a little strange, considering the location.

Intelligent eyes were looking Harry over, waiting for a response. He glanced around again and noted that while there were a few free seats remaining, there weren't all that many. He smiled at the woman and gave a single nod. "Be my guest."

"Oh, you're English?" she said as she lowered herself into the seat with a little sigh. She smiled across at him. "Thanks! I'm Zee, by the way."

"Harry," said Harry and he raised his glass. "And yep. Guilty as charged. So, have you seen this act before?"

"Oh, I never miss it," she said, and her dark eyes glittered at some personal joke. "I think you'll enjoy it. What brings an Englishman to Gotham?"

The way she answered his question prompted Harry to give her another look over. This time he noticed some of the other guests glancing their way and whispering between themselves. He decided to take a punt. "Zatanna?" he asked.

Her grin was unrepentant. "Like I said, call me Zee," she said. She sounded a little disappointed that she'd been found out so quickly. Leaning across, she lowered her voice a little theatrically. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure? You are Harry Potter, right? Not many wizards visit Gotham through choice."

"A couple of things, actually," said Harry. He decided there was no great rush, though. "One of them might be a little sensitive. Perhaps we should do this after you've done your performance?"

She let out a little laugh. "Well that's not ominous."

She had a point. "It's about what happened to your father."

Her happy mood immediately dissolved, and her face grew serious. "I see," she said, and stood up. "In that case, you're probably right. We should leave this until after the show. Stick around. I'll come see you when I'm done."

"I'm looking forward to the show," he said in an attempt to take her mind off her father. "How much actual magic will there be?"

A glimmer of her earlier playfulness returned. "I guess you'll just have to try and work that out for yourself. Watch closely, there may be a test at the end." She winked at him and started making her way towards the stage.

Harry sat back in his chair, his whisky held loosely in one hand. As he had to wait, he may as well try and enjoy the show. There was always something more to learn.

As Zatanna neared the stage, there was a sudden bright flash. When his vision cleared, Harry saw that the dress was gone. Instead, she was wearing an outfit somewhat reminiscent of the waiting staff. There was the top-hat, bow-tie, and a tailed jacket over a pin-striped corset and white blouse. The most eye-catching feature of her outfit, however, were her legs. Long black boots which reached above the knee, and topped by a set of fishnet stockings.

Once again, Harry had to admire the boldness. That she was tall and very leggy certainly helped her pull it off.

Her sudden transformation ensured that all eyes were on her, and she took up her position on the stage with a graceful leap and twirl. Her mere appearance was enough to garner some enthusiastic applause from her audience.

She started talking to the crowd, but Harry's attention was on her hands as she twirled a long old-fashioned muggle magician's wand in complex shapes. Harry wasn't sure quite where the wand had come from, even his experienced Auror's eye couldn't seen any telltale signs of magic.

Her act started small. She summoned doves, seemingly from her hat. They flew around the club to the great delight of the patrons before returning to Zatanna of their own accord and disappearing once more into the hat that had apparently birthed them.

As the act continued, Harry began to suspect that she wasn't actually employing any magic at all. At one point she released thousands of butterflies around the room, one of which Harry was able to catch. It was a transfigured butterfly, of course, surely getting hold of that many real butterflies would be difficult or costly, but the transfiguration was at least a few hours old. He looked around to make sure he wasn't being watched before reversing the transfiguration to discover that it had once been a piece of confetti.

When he returned his attention to the stage, a huge ghostly white-gloved hand had appeared through the back wall and Zatanna herself danced below it like a marionette on strings. After a few seconds of dancing, she began to fight against the strings, until another flash of light saw the strings suddenly go up in flames.

She then started to ballroom dance with the hand instead, until, as a finale, the hand once again took to the air and flew about the room until it exploded into a flock of doves which lasted only a few seconds before each of those dissolved into hundreds of white butterflies.

The act ended when the transfigured butterflies reverted to confetti and rained gently over the crowd.

The applause was uproarious, and Harry found himself joining in. That last trick had obviously used real magic, but the showmanship was impressive. That most of her act had been done the muggle way was well worth showing some appreciation.

Down on the stage, Zatanna bowed and thanked her patrons generously until at last the applause began to die away. Eventually, she left the stage, disappearing into a back-room somewhere The low susurration of quiet conversation slowly began to fill the room once more.

It was a couple of minutes later, when she returned. "Well, what did you think?" She sat down at Harry's table without preamble. She'd changed her clothes again. Her hair was pinned up, and she was wearing another black dress. Unlike the last, this one was longer and more flowing. It might have been an attempt to go incognito, but Harry wasn't sure how well it was likely to work. In his experience, women who looked like Zatanna seldom went unnoticed.

"Very impressive," he replied honestly. "It's amazing what you were able to achieve without magic, and I don't think they suspected a thing when you did that last act."

"My father always liked to do things the old-fashioned way," she said with a fond smile. "But I do enjoy adding a bit of pizzazz for the show-stopper."

"Well, mission accomplished, I'd say," said Harry. "That was some pretty good pizzazz. I'm no expert on muggle magicians, but I imagine they'd have a hard time topping that."

"Thanks," she said before turning more serious once again. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Well, there's two things really. I imagine you'd rather start with your father?"

She gave a firm nod, so Harry continued, "Someone claiming to be Giovanni Zatara was seen at the Woolworth building in New York a few days ago. As he knew I was coming to Gotham, President Quahog asked me to check in with you. So far as MACUSA is aware, your father passed away as a result of some event involving him and John Constantine trying to combat some kind of dark magic."

Harry paused for a moment as he watched Zatanna's expression carefully. There was sadness there, but she was also frowning as he spoke. "I assume from your reaction that you didn't know about Giovanni's recent appearance."

She shook her head. "No. Much as I wish it was him, I do not see how it could be. John told me what happened. He couldn't… well, that's just not something you can come back from," she said. She was worrying at her lip.

"I understand," said Harry. He hated asking people to bring up old pains, but sometimes it was a part of the job. "So if it's not Giovanni, is there anyone who might want to impersonate him for some purpose?"

Zatanna looked thoughtful. "Well, perhaps. My father had a few rivals I suppose. If you know John, I'm sure you've realised that there is rarely much time for sentiment among practitioners of the occult arts. Really, if any of them heard that they might be able to get their hands on some of my father's old books of spells, I doubt they'd be able to resist."

"Did your father keep anything like that in New York?" Harry asked. It seemed unlikely that a man as detached from the MACUSA as Zatara was would leave anything there.

"Not that I know of," said Zatanna, though she didn't seem sure. "I thought that everything went to either me, or to John after he died. He hadn't been to New York in years."

"What about the dark magic that caused his death? Wasn't that in New York?"

She nodded slowly, clearly trying to find some connection. "It was… but John said that that was all over. He said my father sacrificed himself to completely destroy the curse. They weren't even there long. A few hours maybe?"

Harry hummed. "What do you know about the specifics of what happened?"

"Just what John told me," she said, looking chagrined. "We were together, then, you know? And then that night he just turned up, told me my father had died fighting some dark curse or other, and made some bullshit excuse to leave. I haven't even heard from him since."

Now that was suspicious. "He just dumped you right after telling you your Dad was dead?" said Harry, unable to restrain his surprise. He knew Constantine was a bastard, but that was pretty low.

Zatanna just snorted and took a larger than usual swig of her drink. "Dumping someone requires active participation. John just upped and vanished. The whole 'dumping' was me joining up the dots a few weeks later."

"Just say the word and I can make his life a special little slice of hell," said Harry, trying to turn her mood around. "Though he's always been pretty good at managing that on his own from what I've seen."

He felt a measure of success when that pulled a chuckle from her. "That's John. I always thought there was a good heart in there somewhere, but I think the problem is that it's buried under so much… Constantine. I swear, he's his own worst enemy."

They fell into silence, and Harry used the time to think about what she'd said. His instincts were telling him that there was more to the situation than met the eye. Whatever had happened to Zatara, it was clear that Constantine had not simply been some helpless observer.

If Harry had to put money on it, he'd guess that Constantine blamed himself for Zatara's death, rightly or wrongly, and then he'd done what he always did when things got tough; he ran. Even if that was the case, it didn't explain what purpose someone might have for impersonating Zatara. If anything, it might make it more likely that it really was Zatara himself that had reappeared. After-all, Quahog hadn't said exactly how they'd identified the man as an impostor. Whatever the curse was might have been enough to alter Zatara's magic enough that he only appeared to be an impostor.

There were just too many unknowns, and Harry hated not knowing.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Zatanna spoke again. "What was the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Hmm?" said Harry, needing a second to organise his thoughts. "Oh, yes. A friend of mine went missing in Gotham about a week ago. I was hoping you might be willing to help, even if it's just at the level of giving me some local knowledge."

She sat forward in her seat, and fixed her sharp eyes on Harry. "What have you worked out so far?"

Harry quickly filled her in on what he knew, and outlined a little of what he suspected.

"Well, your friend has good taste at least," said Zatanna once Harry had finished. "La Sal is a fairly new Spanish restaurant not far from the museum." She went quiet again, clearly thinking over what he'd said. "Any idea how he found out about it? It's nice, but it's hardly world famous."

"No idea," Harry admitted. It probably didn't matter though. "He probably just picked it up from an overheard conversation when he was snooping about the tower I guess."

"Maybe," Zatanna allowed. "So you haven't been there yet to see if he was there?"

Harry shook his head. "Not yet. I couldn't work out where it was."

"Well, the night is still young," she said brightly. "What do you say we go and have a look?"

"Just like that?" he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise.

With a single shouldered-shrug, Zatanna said, "Well, I don't have any other plans for this evening, and if your friend really did get himself in trouble I can't exactly let the famous Harry Potter follow in his footsteps. Gotham might get a reputation."

"Gotham already has a reputation," Harry pointed out.

She didn't miss a beat. "A worse reputation, then."


	6. Chapter 6

Gotham, like many cities, breathed humanity with slow daily breaths. In the morning, awoken from unquiet dreams by the rising of the sun, its great inhalation drew in people miles around, blown helplessly on the winds of prosperity. Then, when the last rays of the sun retreated behind the western horizon it exhaled again, and the countless masses that gave it life, depleted by their daily efforts, were once again exhausted.

But Gotham was a city that did not breathe easy. It coughed and it sputtered throughout the day as people came and went from their jobs in uneven shifts. When at last night came, like a troubled sleeper, the city could find no rest. Even when the hour grew late, it's streets were filled with people, and sleep was the last thing on their minds.

"I thought you said this place was popular," Harry said to Zatanna as they made their way across the city in the back of another cab. The traffic was far worse than it had any right to be at such a late hour. "How did you manage to reserve a table at such short notice?"

"The owner's a fan," she said simply. She sent Harry a winning smile. "The job has its perks."

"Thank you again for helping," said Harry. He genuinely was thankful too. Finding the right restaurant might have been much more difficult without Zatanna's seemingly endless knowledge of Gotham's social scene. "I was sorely missing having some local knowledge."

"Don't mention it," she said with a wave of her hand. "Life's been getting pretty boring this last year, I could use the distraction."

Despite her attempt to play it down, Harry knew he'd owe her some pretty big favors once it was all over. "I suppose that's one thing about Constantine," he said. "I can't imagine things ever get boring."

She laughed ruefully. "I guess you could put it like that. It does get old though."

Harry wasn't quite sure he believed her. "So you're not helping me because you miss the excitement?"

"I guess that's part of it," she admitted, her eyes distant. "But really, I suppose I miss helping people."

"I can understand that," said Harry. He had become an Auror, after-all, and not just because he was clinically incapable of keeping his nose out of other people's business if he thought they were up to no good. "No reason you can't keep helping people though. I'd think you'd find it much easier without Constantine around to piss off anyone who might be inclined to thank you for your help."

"Have you seen this city?" she said sadly. She pointed out the window at yet another group of homeless people gathered up against a crumbling building. Before they passed, Harry noticed that they were seemingly being threatened by another group of rough-looking men. "I'm not sure it really wants to be helped. I don't think I'm up to becoming Batwoman, or whatever."

"What do you mean?" said Harry. He remembered the group of homeless people from the Gardens mentioning a Batman. He hadn't really given it much thought. "You mean like the Batman? What's the story there anyway?"

"Not much to tell to be honest," said Zatanna, glancing away to look out the windows at the rooftops. "He turned up maybe a bit over a year ago. No-one's really sure when exactly. The gang-bangers he takes down never want to talk about it, like they think he's the bogeyman. Officially, the GCPD have called him an illegal vigilante, and there's a warrant out for his arrest, and cash rewards for any information that leads to his capture. Unofficially, they turn a blind eye. Well, the good ones do, at least. He's got the bad-guys running scared."

"It was really that bad?" Harry asked, finding it hard to imagine any law enforcement group tacitly approving a vigilante. They were basically admitting that they couldn't do their job.

She shook her head. "It was worse. Before Batman showed up, this city was pretty much owned by the mobs, and the GCPD wasn't anything more than another gang themselves, only with matching cars. Every district was divided up by the different families, and Carmine Falcone was pretty much the King in Gotham. Even held court at his club downtown. He had pretty much everyone from the Mayor down begging for scraps from his table."

"But it's better now?" Harry asked. Upon reflection, maybe it wasn't so hard to imagine that level of corruption. Voldemort was a criminal that had almost managed to take control of the entire country, after-all. Some might find it hard to believe that the police force could be so completely corrupt but really all it took was a few for a few of the higher-ups to be on the take or turn a blind eye and it became more dangerous than it was worth to stand up to them. There was that saying, 'better on the inside pissing out, than on the outside pissing in'. When things got as bad as Gotham, it became something else. Better on the inside pissing out, than on the outside getting pissed on.

The good cops would have kept their heads down and tried to keep their family safe. That's what happened when society began to break down; every man for himself. The bad cops would have revelled in the power and status that their position gave them.

"Maybe," said Zatanna after a moment's thought. "Or maybe not. Things _are_ different, though. Batman has been going through the families like a buzzsaw. He took down the Ibanescus a few months ago, and just a couple of weeks back Luigi Maroni was found beaten and chained to the fence outside GCPD HQ. There was enough evidence tied around his neck to put him away for a dozen lifetimes. You'd think that was a good thing, putting the mobsters, gangs and thugs away but it's never so simple.

"In Gotham, there's always someone just waiting to take the old don's seat at Falcone's table. There's always some gang waiting to jump into any space that opens up. At this point, it's pretty much a war out there. This city was always on a knife-edge. Batman came in and gave that knife a good firm kick. There's no way some people don't end up cut up on the way down."

It was hard to imagine anything could be so far gone. Something in his expression must have borne that sentiment as Zatanna just chuckled darkly. "Welcome to Gotham!"

Despite the black humour, Harry could hear the pain. She loved her city, that much was clear. She didn't need to stay there, as a skilled witch and magician, she could have gone anywhere. "But you're still tempted to help," Harry observed.

"Aren't you an Auror?" she said, with a sideways grin. "Aren't you meant to convince me to let the professionals do their jobs?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the irony of that. "Well, given what I'm currently doing, that would be pretty hypocritical, don't you think?" he pointed out. "Also, remember that you're talking to someone who was Britain's 'Undesirable No. 1' for a year. I've done my fair share of vigilantism."

Further conversation was cut short when the cab finally pulled up outside of a small but very nicely appointed restaurant. Harry got out of the cab, and had to quickly jump onto the pavement to avoid a beaten-up grey van which was playing fast-and-loose with the notion of road safety.

As soon as he saw the restaurant up close, something seemed off. He glanced at Zatanna to see if she had noticed anything, but there was no indication that she had as she walked ahead and pushed open the door.

Despite the late hour, they were in one of the more affluent parts of the city, and the pavement was still busy enough that Harry couldn't pull out his wand and start casting spells without being noticed. He filed his suspicions away and followed Zatanna inside.

The restaurant was indeed as busy as he'd expected, and there were only two tables still unoccupied. The walls were lined with curing Iberian hams, which lent the whole establishment a very rustic, relaxed feel. His entrance had caused a few people to glance towards the door, but they soon returned to their conversations. At the far end of the long thin room there was a bar, with a harried looking middle-aged man tending it. Around the room, a few waiters and waitresses moved between the guests with practised ease.

When he entered he found Zatanna speaking quietly with a rotund man of deeply tanned Mediterranean complexion. Harry figured it was likely to be the owner that Zatanna had mentioned, and walked up to them.

"Hi," he said as he shook the man's hand. "Thanks for letting us steal one of your tables at such short notice. Seems to be a busy night for you."

"For the bewitching and beguiling Mistress of Magic? Anything!" the man declared with a flamboyant bow that didn't quite match his appearance. He had a very pronounced Spanish accent which Harry's cynical side suspected was at least exaggerated for the punters, if not wholly put-on. "Come, I will show you to your table."

As they were led through the tightly packed tables, each taking care to avoid disturbing the other diners, Harry said in a lowered voice, "Bewitching and beguiling, eh?"

"Can it," was the unamused rejoinder.

Once they'd both taken their seats and selected a bottle of wine for the table to appease their host, Harry leaned across. "Notice anything strange?"

Zatanna looked up from the menu she'd been perusing and met Harry's eye. "Strange?" She cast her gaze over the rest of the room. "It looks the same as when I was last here."

"No," said Harry shaking his head. "I mean magically. Look, I'll show you, give me a second."

He surreptitiously pulled out his wand and cast a minor aversion charm on their table. It would ensure that they wouldn't be bothered by the waiting staff while Harry had his wand out. He then started tapping things with his wand. The table and chairs, the glasses and the side plates. The table and one of the glasses glowed for the briefest of moments.

"They've been repaired recently using magic," he said, explaining the reason for the glow. "I don't suppose your fan is a wizard?"

"I think not," she said, looking around the room again with narrowed eyes. "I can see what you're talking about now. Everything's the same as I remember it, but nothing's got any dings or scrapes on it. How on earth did you notice that?"

Harry just shrugged, and dispelled the aversion charm. He was done with the magic for now at least. "I'm an Auror. You miss something, and you might get eaten by a cursed wardrobe."

"That's suspiciously specific."

"We tend to learn on the job," said Harry, letting her draw her own conclusions. "The real question, then, is what happened here?"

"Can you tell what damage was repaired?" asked Zatanna as she poked at her wine-glass, which had been the one to glow. She muttered what Harry assumed to be a spell, " _laever ruoy tsap_."

The glass exploded. Red wine and shards of glass flew in all directions and around them there were a few startled screams. While Harry experienced a bit of splash-back, he found he didn't really care as it was Zatanna that had taken the worst of it. She sat there, stock-still for a moment, dripping red wine before Harry's burst of laughter pulled her from her shock.

Before she could speak, Paulo appeared in a whirlwind of towels and hastily garbled apologies.

"Madre de dios! Sciento señorita, I am so sorry!" he said as he passed Zatanna a napkin and began clearing the table of wine and shards of glass. Perhaps he really was Spanish after-all. "Must have been cleaned too hot, that boy. Estupido! Le dije que lavara todos los vasos a mano! You are not hurt, are you?"

It took a few moments, but Zatanna was eventually able to salvage what was left of her dignity. She shot a still-chuckling Harry a dirty look before standing up. "No harm done, Paulo," she said, calming him down a little though he continued to fuss over her. "I will just have to go to the bathroom for a moment to freshen up."

"Of course, of course," the little man said and he led her quickly away. As they went, Harry saw him send some very pointed looks at the other waiting staff, and soon they descended on the table to tidy away the remaining mess.

By the time Zatanna returned, there was nothing in her appearance to indicate that her earlier accident had ever occurred. He wasn't sure how she was planning to explain it, but she'd obviously used magic to clear the red wine from her clothes and clean her hair.

"Thanks for the help there," she said, her tone exasperated. Harry was pretty sure she wasn't serious though. He could detect a hint of amusement in her dark eyes, much though she tried to hide it. "Oh, and Paulo says our dinner is complimentary this evening."

"Always appreciate free food," said Harry cheerfully. "Oh, and no problem. Any time. So… what did your spell tell you?"

Zatanna gave him a look of irritation but before she could answer, a waiter arrived at their table with a veritable mountain of tapas dishes. Conversation was briefly delayed as they helped the man find enough space on their table for all the little dishes. It seemed that not only would dinner be on the house, but they'd get the full selection too.

When the waiter had finally left, they were able to resume their conversation. "It told me to be more careful around recently repaired glassware," she said, flatly. She paused a moment before sighing and continuing, "Honestly? Nothing. The spell was just meant to show me what damage had been fixed. I don't know why it exploded."

"Well, my guess is that you didn't do the spell wrong," said Harry after a moment's thought. He started piling his plate with the more interesting looking dishes. "If the glass actually had been exploded before being fixed, that's exactly what would have happened when you cast your spell, right?"

"I guess," said Zatanna slowly. "But what about the table? Is your friend in the habit of exploding blameless furniture?"

"Not typically, no," Harry admitted. He was usually pretty in control, unless someone really pissed him off. "But who's to say it was Neville that was doing the exploding?"

"You think someone else attacked the restaurant while he was here?"

Harry nodded. "It would make sense, wouldn't it?"

"It's a bit contrived though, isn't it?" said Zatanna, frowning as she nibbled on some kind of spicy pork in a tomato sauce. "I know Gotham has a bad reputation, but even here you have to be pretty unlucky to get caught in the middle of a stick-up. Unless you think someone was actually looking for him?"

"Is it so far-fetched?" Harry asked, warming up to his theory. "I've spent the last couple of days following Neville through every one of his little slip-ups and mistakes. I think he pissed Wayne Enterprises off something awful. Maybe they tried to take him in for questioning or something."

Zatanna shook her head. "That's not Wayne's style," she said firmly. "They do things by the book. That's one of the few things Bruce always really insisted on."

Harry mentally noted down the fact that Zatanna seemed to be on first name terms with Gotham's richest and as a result, if he were so inclined, probably most powerful man. Another fan perhaps? Given Wayne's... proclivities, and Zatanna's obvious beauty, that didn't seem at all unlikely. "Maybe not Wayne then. But what about these gangs you mentioned? If your rumour-mill is anything like as efficient as ours then they probably know that there's someone in town with some unusual abilities."

"Now that's not a bad idea," she admitted, spearing a couple of little steak things and depositing them on her plate. "With Batman on their backs, they're getting desperate. It wouldn't surprise me."

"So who are the most likely culprits, then?" asked Harry, deferring to Zatanna's superior knowledge of the city.

"Well, despite everything Batman's done, the Falcone Family still own this town," she said after thinking for a moment. "The Maroni's used to do business in this part of the city, but they're down for the count at the moment at least. There's a new gang that's been sweeping in to fill the vacuum being left by Batman. No-one had heard too much about them until a few weeks ago, but supposedly they call themselves the False Facers."

"Not another mob group?"

"No, they're not like the old families who liked to think they were businessmen. The False Facers are thugs of the worst sort," said Zatanna quickly. "Completely ruthless, and they don't care how many people get hurt. The old families had a set of rules, and if one of the families broke them, then the rest would make their lives very difficult. The False Facers just don't care. They don't collect protection money and they don't care about hurting women or children. Word is they really like their torture too. Not sure they'd have the amount of organisation needed for something like this though. From what I heard, they're more like a doomsday cult than a real criminal organisation."

"You want any more of the potatoes?" Harry asked, pointing to the little dish with his fork. Upon receiving a negative response, he emptied the rest of the bowl onto his plate. "It would be easier if we could ask someone here, but it looks like Neville obliviated them all after whatever it was happened."

"That's surely a good thing, though," Zatanna pointed out. "It means whatever it was that happened, he was the one still standing at the end of it."

"That's true, but if he wasn't injured or taken somehow, why hasn't he checked in?" That was the real question. Even if he had somehow been subdued, it was pretty much impossible for a group of muggles to hold a wizard for any length of time.

They fell into silence for a while, both still chipping away at the mounds of food before them.

"Actually, maybe there is someone who remembers what happened," said Zatanna slowly.

"The bad guys?"

"Well, maybe, but that's not who I was thinking of. When I came out of the rest-rooms, Paulo was on the phone to Mikey, he's the usual barman here," she said by way of explanation. "I only got half of the conversation, but it sounded like Mikey hasn't been in since last week. Paulo said something about a panic attack."

"It's a long-shot," said Harry skeptically.

"Better than nothing, though, right?"

That much, Harry couldn't dispute. "Alright, we'll check Mikey out tomorrow then. If he turns out to be a dead-end, we can try coming back here late tomorrow evening once everyone's cleared out. We might be able to turn something up. Worst comes to worse, I can try and reverse Neville's memory charm on Paulo." Reversing memory charms was a finicky business at the best of times. Something as traumatic as whatever had happened with Neville would be very tricky indeed.

With that much decided, their conversation turned to other things.

"So, how'd you and Constantine meet?" Harry asked after a while. "Apart from the magic thing, you don't seem to have anything in common."

"He found me," Zatanna began. "Or, he found my boyfriend at the time. Nick was one of my father's students before he disappeared the first time. John came to him to learn more magic. Nick, of course, saw his potential and immediately took him on. He always did like having some disciples following him around."

Harry wondered if she included herself in that group, and perhaps she heard his thoughts because she continued, "Yeah, yeah, I can't talk, I know, but it was a bit different for us. Nick was there when my father went missing. It hit us both pretty hard, so we stuck together."

A look of regret passed over her features as she looked sightlessly at her empty wine-glass. Harry decided that maybe it was time to call it a night. It was getting late, and while Paulo wasn't exactly trying to usher them out the door, no doubt due to his lingering horror and guilt over what had happened, Harry could tell that the staff were getting antsy.

It didn't take a genius to work out that Constantine's arrival had spelled doom for the otherwise happy relationship. That was pretty much what Constantine did for his day job.

"Perhaps we should think about getting going," he said, looking around the mostly empty restaurant pointedly. "It's getting late, and I think Paulo's going to wear a hole in the floor."

Zatanna jerked up, stirred from whatever it was she'd been musing. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "So it is. I must have lost track of time."

"I'm told that that's caused by Wrackspurts," said Harry, his voice deadly serious as he stood up. "We can try and get you some dirigible plums tomorrow, if you like?"

Harry was rewarded with a surprised laugh. "Wrackspurts?"

He nodded firmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Wrackspurts."

"Do you know, I've never heard of wrackspurts?" said Zatanna, still chuckling, her previous melancholic mood forgotten.

"Well you wouldn't, would you? They mess with your memory."

"And what, exactly, would be the purpose of the… what was it? Dirigible plums?" she replied, as they made their way out of the door with waves of farewell to Paulo.

Harry flagged down a passing cab, and while they waited for it to pull up, he puffed himself up, as if about to deliver an important academic lecture. "Well, Luna used to think the wrackspurts were scared of them, but recent research suggests that it's more than that. Dirigible plums are actually the wrackspurt's only natural predator. Their ability to affect memory is only meant to influence the plums."

Unable to control her laughter, Zatanna just shook her head. "So many questions," she managed.

"It's all there in the Quibbler," said Harry, popping open the door of the cab and getting in.

No sooner had he done-so than the door slammed shut, and he was thrown back in his seat to the sound of screeching tires. He turned to look out the back window and saw a confused Zatanna quickly retreating into the distance, her hand still held out in open air.

He turned back to the driver. "What the hell?"

The driver didn't turn back, but instead threw the cab around a corner at a speed far above anything even remotely safe. "You need to leave Gotham, Harry Potter," the man said in a low monotone that was barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the engine, and the infuriated honking of other road users as the taxi barrelled down Gotham's narrow streets.

Things had suddenly become interesting. "And why should I do that?"

"You must leave Gotham, or a great suffering will befall," said the man in the same flat tone.

"What great suffering?" he asked, before having to stop himself from slamming into the door as the driver turned another corner in a move that would have made even Victor Krum balk. "And just who the fuck are you?"

"I am no-one," said the man unhelpfully. "One of the uncounted. Faceless."

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I don't intimidate easily," said Harry, starting to get annoyed at being thrown around. He could, of course, escape or subdue the driver in any one of a thousand ways, but then he might miss out on some useful information.

The man was completely unmoved. "You are Harry Potter. You must leave Gotham."

"I heard that bit," Harry snapped. "But I'm not leaving this city until I've found my friend."

"If you leave, you will see your friend again. Once his purpose is fulfilled," said the driver. Harry could see out the window that they were pulling on to one of the main motorways that ran in and out of the city. The man wove the car between the light traffic at a breakneck pace but his tone betrayed nothing. "If you stay, then he will suffer, and you will die."

"Well that's fucking peachy," Harry growled, well and truly past the point of anger. Thanks to the man's insane driving, they were already on one of the bridges leading out of Gotham. "Where do I sign up? Maybe we can get a group deal if I take some of you bastards with me."

"You must leave Gotham, or great suffering will befall."

"Oh, fuck off," said Harry with finality. He decided he'd heard enough. With a practised motion, he pulled out his wand and vanished the sheet of transparent plastic between him and the driver

Everything happened very quickly. The moment the divider disappeared, the driver threw the wheel to the right as far as it would go and the car careened out of control, spinning end about end. It clipped the back of a lorry and began to tumble rapidly. Half a breath later, it ran into the barrier on the side of the bridge. Ordinarily, the barriers were made to stop such accidents, but the sheer speed with which the car had been moving rendered the protection useless. Upon striking the barrier, the car flipped up and over, before plummeting towards the water far below. As it fell, whirling end-over-end, Harry and the driver were thrown all around the cabin. The driver's limp body bent in unnatural ways as it was flung about, already killed by the collision with the lorry.

It was sheer instinct that made Harry disapparate at that moment, just fractions of a second before the car hit the water.

He reappeared upside-down, and in midair, but otherwise safe in his hotel room. He fell to the ground, grunting as he hit his head in the process. He lay there for a long moment as he tried to regather his scattered wits and find his bearings again.

Eventually, he pushed himself up into a slouching seated position. Bruised from being thrown all around the interior of the car as it flipped and tumbled, his entire body protested vehemently, but he overruled it. He pulled out his wand and cast a simple healing charm. He sighed as the refreshing coolness washed over him, and bore away the aches and pains he'd acquired just a few seconds previously.

Magic truly was a wonder that didn't get enough credit from witches and wizards who'd grown up never having to know what a set of bruised ribs felt like.

The first thing to do was to contact Zatanna. Perhaps he was being conceited, but after seeing him get taken by the crazy cabbie, she was probably at least passingly concerned. That she hadn't felt the need to do anything to help did smart a bit though. He shook that thought off and with a wave of his wand a bright white stag, composed almost purely of light, issued forth in a cloud of glittering mist.

It cantered around the room for a few seconds before realising that there were no threats to be driven off. It then returned to Harry, and he looked it in its silvery eyes. "Zee, I'm okay. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Meet me at the club at 8 tomorrow morning."

Without any further spoken commands it bounded away, and within seconds it was gone. Unlike with owls he didn't need to worry about Prongs being seen; muggles could no more see a Patronus than they could see Dementors. There was also the fact that he hadn't got a new owl of his own since the loss of Hedwig, and summoning a post-owl was far from instantaneous.

With Zatanna hopefully reassured, Harry decided it was time for bed. He'd had quite enough excitement for one day. He'd try and work out what was going on in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

When Harry surfaced from his slumber it was still completely dark. For some reason, he'd dreamed that his name was being called.

"Harry!" came a familiar voice. Not a dream then. "Are you there?"

He grumbled to himself, and after a moment of indecision, rolled out of bed with an inelegant thump. He staggered across to the chair where he'd dumped his clothes in a rumpled pile and fumbled in the dark to find his coat. After locating the right pocket on only his third attempt, and after putting back the Omnioculars and Weasley fireworks he'd uncovered in his search, he pulled out the communication mirror. In it he found the cheerful face of Padma Patil. From what he could see, she was sitting outside some café in Diagon enjoying the morning sun and a gently steaming coffee.

"What bloody time do you call this?" he rasped, plopping himself back down on the end of the bed.

"Ooh, time zones. Sorry, must have slipped my mind, you know how it can get when you're snowed under," she said, completely unabashed. She took a dainty sip of her drink and eyed him levelly. He'd known he was going to pay for his digs when they'd last spoke. He couldn't muster the energy to be annoyed, which he supposed was probably part of her plan.

"Alright, I get the point," he said as he flicked a hand and a small light appeared and flew over to the bedside lamp which flickered into life. "You win this round, Patil. What do you have for me?"

"Those leaves you found?" she said, her face becoming a little more serious. "Susan and Sprout were both able to identify it as Venomous Tentacula, only, not quite. Seems someone managed to cross-breed it with a lesser known kind of Devil's Snare apparently only found on the north-west coast of North America. We took it to the Grey-hoods and they're not sure but there might also be some Madagascan Dream Grass traits in there. Whoever did the hybridization made a bit of a mess of it though. They reckoned it probably wasn't long for this world."

"I think it was done by a muggle, so that's not surprising. It's probably not so important now, anyway," said Harry, realising with surprise that in only 24 hours the direction of his investigation had changed completely. The fact that it had been hybridised with a Devil's Snare did explain why it had been looking so unhappy under the bright lights set up in the lab. "I was able to extract it from Wayne, and I wiped anything on their computers that they may have been able to get from it too. I'll send the plant along to you once I've had some sleep."

"So how's the search going then," Padma asked, picking up on his meaning. "You found a new lead?"

"Maybe," Harry admitted. As he was already awake, he decided he may as well fill Padma in. Maybe she'd come up with something. "We found some evidence that the restaurant Neville went to was attacked. Or, at least, there was wide-spread damage which he'd fixed up. Well, it was probably him, anyway. It looks like all the staff have been obliviated, too.

"Oh, and some basketcase kidnapped me in a taxi and tried to kill me by crashing his car into the bloody sea."

"He obliviated—" Before she could get started, though, she stopped. It took her a second to process Harry's last statement. "Wait, what?"

"Like I said, I got in a cab and the driver took off before I'd even sat down." He rubbed his forehead where a bruise would have surely been in the absence of the wonder that was magic. "He threatened me a bit, then crashed the car off a bridge when I got sick of listening to him."

"He killed himself?"

"Pretty sure," said Harry without needing to think about it too hard, that wasn't the kind of accident anyone could expect to walk away from. The way the man's body had been flopping around as the car tumbled had certainly not been healthy. "If he did survive, it would only be by pure dumb luck. No way he _planned_ to walk away from that wreck."

Padma's sharp gaze swept over what parts of Harry she could see through the communication mirror. "You weren't hurt? What kind of threats?"

"A few bumps and bruises," said Harry with a shrug. Better to downplay it if he didn't want to be mothered at 5am. He then mimicked the monotone voice of his erstwhile kidnapper. "Leave Gotham or die."—His voice returned to normal—"You get the gist."

"That was it?" she asked, sounding puzzled. "He kidnapped you to threaten you into leaving… then tried to kill you?"

"Well, I think he was actually just going to drive me out of the city and dump me," said Harry. Trying to understand the motives of a madman was always a tricky business. "But when I tried to stop him, he decided to try for a more permanent solution instead. Get this though, whoever he's working with already have Neville."

"Was he a wizard?" said Padma, sounding worried at the thought. Neville was her friend too, all the veterans of the Battle of Hogwarts were close. "How did they manage to take him?"

"Not a wizard," said Harry firmly. That much, at least, he was sure of. "So not a bloody clue, but one of the restaurant's staff might have avoided the obliviation, we're going to see him tomor… later today." He gave Padma a dirty look when he realised he'd have to be up again in a few hours.

Padma quirked an eyebrow. "We?"

"I went to talk to Giovanni Zatara's daughter about his mysterious reappearance," said Harry. "She offered to help me with the search. I needed someone who can actually navigate this rathole of a city."

"Is she pretty?" Padma asked immediately. She wiggled her eyebrows. "Is she single?"

"Padma..." Harry began before stopping himself. He wasn't going to play her game at 5am. That was a recipe for losing. "It's 5am, Neville's still missing, and I do not have the energy for this," he said firmly. He was still having to deal with the mess caused by the last time one of his so-called friends had tried to set him up with someone.

"So that's a yes on both counts, then?" said Padma cheerfully. "You know you need to get over—"

He knew she was trying to keep him positive, but there was no way he was talking about _that_ at 5 in the morning. He cut her off. "Good night, Padma."

"Wait!" she called just before Harry set the mirror aside. "We got a fire-call from Carruthers late-on last night."

"Let me guess," said Harry reluctantly, while wishing sincerely that he could go back to sleep. He really didn't want to have to deal with that man's shit, even by proxy. "He told Kingsley to get me to stop pissing in his cornflakes?"

"No, by we, I mean the Department," she said.

That piqued Harry's interest. An official request, then? "That's not what I expected. What did he have to say?"

The suspicion in Padma's voice echoed Harry's own. "That's the thing, he wanted to get his hands on Constantine."

That wasn't something Harry had expected. "Really? Why'd they want him, did he say?"

"Said they wanted to question him regarding the Zatara reappearance." He could definitely understand her suspicion. They'd only just been asked to check in with Constantine by Quahog a couple of days ago.

"What changed?" Harry wondered out loud. "Quahog wasn't all that bothered about it when I spoke to him."

"Well, Carruthers has a bee in his bonnet about it."

"What did you tell him?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure he knew how she'd respond, but he wanted to make sure.

"Told him Constantine's a pain in the arse, but he's a British subject and that MACUSA has no jurisdiction," said Padma, and Harry could just imagine the scathing tone she'd used. "Said we'd be talking to him soon, and if they had any questions they wanted answered they could pass them to us, and we'd consider bringing them to Constantine."

That last bit was a nice touch. A good little diplomatic slap in the face disguised as an olive branch. "Good," said Harry firmly. "I don't suppose he did tell you what they're wanting to ask him?"

"Nope," said Padma before smiling smugly. "He didn't say anything at all, just disconnected the Floo then and there."

"Good job," said Harry. Maybe it was a bit petty, but the thought of Carruthers' face when Padma had delivered her dismissal gave him a warm fuzzy feeling. After a moment's thought, he said, "Maybe do check in with Constantine today then. I want to know what's got Carruthers' knickers in a twist."

"Already tasked Quigley with it," said Padma with a nod. "He'll head along some time this afternoon. Unless you want answers sooner?"

"No, this afternoon's fine," said Harry after a moment's thought. "Let me know if you get anything interesting. Now, I think I have some sleep to get back to."

"Got it. Night, Harry," she chirped, far too upbeat for that early in the morning. Then, with a hint of playfulness, she added, "Remember the flowers. Second date is one of the big ones."

Before his sluggish mind could find a decent comeback, the mirror went clear once more. Harry groaned and fell backwards onto the bed again. He often found himself asking why he kept her on, as mouthy as she could be. No-one else had to deal with their assistant constantly trying to one-up them.

Except, of course, he knew exactly why he kept her on. She was damned good at her job, and having to put up with the occasional jibe or inappropriate comment was a price well worth paying. Her presence meant that Harry had to do very little of the Head Auror scutwork, and he could instead spend much of his time out on investigations. He wasn't sure how long he would have been able to manage, had it not been for Padma.

He sighed and threw the communication mirror back on top of the pile of clothes, and clawed his way back under the sheets. He was asleep again in seconds.

o-o

The next morning, Harry apparated to the Illusionist club hidden safely beneath his invisibility cloak. He quickly located Zatanna sitting on the stage, swinging her legs back and forth. Unlike the previous day, she was dressed in much more casual attire. A simple jeans, t-shirt jacket combo that she still managed to make look runway-worthy.

Harry slipped the cloak off to reveal himself standing a couple of feet away from her.

She jerked in surprise. "How did you do that?"

"I'm sure you have your secrets, like I have mine," said Harry as he tucked his cloak away into one of his pockets.

"That looked like an invisibility cloak," she said, clearly not wishing to let it go. "But I have placed spells on this club that should alert me, even then."

"Seems you were mistaken then." Harry always did enjoy just how much the cloak of invisibility could confuse people who assumed it to simply be a run-of-the-mill cloak. "Now, are you ready to go?"

Zatanna shot him a look that told him they weren't done with their conversation, but she stood up. "I am. And while you were getting involved in Gotham's street racer scene, I got Mikey's address from Paulo. What happened last night by the way?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," said Harry nonchalantly as they made their way out of the club. "Attempted kidnapping by some kind of brainwashed crazy guy who threatened me with suffering and death if I didn't leave the city. And good idea getting the address, maybe I drank too much wine, it apparently didn't occur to me that we needed to actually know where the guy lives."

"That's 'the usual' for you?" Zatanna asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Actually, I'm usually pretty diligent about not drinking on the job," he said, intentionally misunderstanding the question.

Beyond a fractional increase in brow altitude, she didn't react.

"Well, not that specifically, no," Harry admitted eventually. "But it doesn't go completely against the grain of my life."

"Maybe you and John have more in common than you'd like to admit." That one hit a bit close to home.

"Maybe." Hell, it was probably a sight more than maybe. "Okay. I can't deny that we both share an uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But unlike Constantine, when I get into shit like that, I don't think there's any such thing as acceptable losses. My job is to bring dark wizards to justice. Killing is always a last resort, and it means I failed. Me killing them, no matter how much I think they deserve it, isn't justice."

She didn't respond to that, but Harry felt that she understood what he was saying even if she wasn't sure what to say in response. Instead, she flagged down a passing cab and, when they both got in, directed the driver to Mikey's street.

After a few minutes, Harry decided they should probably work out a plan. "Okay," he said, breaking their silence. "I guess Mikey will recognise you when he sees you. How do you think we should play this?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Zatanna said, turning away from the window out of which she'd been gazing. She thought for a moment. "Maybe you should talk to him yourself? Paulo said he's been acting really paranoid after what happened. I'm not sure how he'd react to me taking an interest. If he makes the connection between what your friend did, and why I do for a living, he might clam up. You could pose as a detective investigating what happened?"

"What do you think of my 'murican accent?" said Harry in an accent that even to him sounded more like the bastard child of Texan and South African than anything recognisable.

"Maybe not."

Harry chuckled, having expected that response. "Interpol instead then? "

After a moment's thought, Zatanna nodded. "Much better. I guess I'll just hang around outside and watch for someone else coming?"

"I doubt that's necessary." Whatever it was, it had happened a week ago and the guy was still seemingly untouched. "If anyone was going to go after him, they'd have done it before now."

"I was thinking more about you," said Zatanna, giving him a flat stare. "Or have you already forgotten that some guy kidnapped and threatened to kill you last night?"

"Right, that," said Harry, realising that she actually had a point. "Maybe that's a good idea actually." He could handle himself against a bunch of muggles, but having Zatanna there to warn him would certainly help.

"Tell you what," he said after a moment's thought. "How about you disillusion yourself and come in. I might miss something, so I'd rather have you at least listening in. I'll set up some charms in case we've been followed."

She smiled and quickly accepted his compromise. It wasn't like standing around on a street corner was anyone's idea of a good time anyway.

When they arrived, Harry took a moment to transfigure his clothes into something a little more like what a muggle investigator might wear, and added an Interpol ID too. It wasn't like the guy would check his credentials so they just needed to look the part.

They both hopped out of the cab a short distance from Mikey's address, and made their way towards the row of houses that contained his flat. It was midmorning, and the area was mostly residential. In most cities that would usually mean it would be pretty quiet, with most people away at work.

Not so in Gotham. Even Harry, who was not at all familiar with Gotham's different districts, could see that it wasn't one of the good ones. The houses themselves were a mixture of run-down or well into the process of running-down. There were a few signs of hope though. On their short walk to Mikey's home, they passed by a very new-looking park where a group of youths were playing basketball.

"The Wayne Foundation does a lot of work in neighbourhoods like this," Zatanna said conversationally after she noticed where he was looking. "I have no idea how much they've spent, but it seems like they're announcing some new initiative every week to try and get the poor of Gotham out of crime and into work. The parks like that one are all built by locals, trained and financed by the Wayne Foundation and supported by Wayne Enterprises personnel."

"Is it working?" Harry asked. Despite the newness of the park, the rest of the neighbourhood still looked pretty seedy. The group of youths in the park wasn't the only one. There was at least one other similar group clustered around the mouth of an alley on the other side of the road. They weren't even trying to hide the fact that many of them were carrying guns tucked into their waistbands.

"In places. Problem is, if you come from one of these neighbourhoods, and you come into some money? Everyone knows it. Suddenly, your rent goes up, and you start having to look over your shoulder when you walk down the street. The people who made that park?" She pointed over at it. "They probably either had their money taken off them somehow, or they upped and left before it could happen. Either way, the money doesn't stay here."

"Why do people live here, then?" Harry asked, trying to understand how a city like Gotham could continue to exist in the state it did. "Why haven't they all just left? Why didn't you?"

They were nearing the block, and so they stopped briefly by a corner, so that Zatanna could step out of sight and cast her disillusionment charm. Before she did, though, she said, simply, "I'm not sure. Have you ever heard that song, New York state of mind? _Edih em morf thgis_. Maybe it's like that."

When she finished speaking her incantation, she faded from view so that her final words were issued from seemingly thin air. Once again, Harry didn't recognise any of the words she'd used. Perhaps he should ask her some time where she had learned her magic.

"Okay, looks good," he said to the empty space where Zatanna had been. There was just the slightest shimmer in the air betraying her presence, but only to the trained eye. He tapped her hidden form with his wand, careful not to poke her too hard. " _Revelio certis._ "

A faint light, visible only to Harry, revealed her outline. "Okay, I can see you. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," said Zatanna's voice. Despite being able to see her outline, it was still strange, like talking to someone's shadow.

They continued the last few meters to the building that Mikey called home. It was one of the less run-down buildings on the block, and in it it was possible to see the echoes of glories past. It had once had elaborate stuccos over each window, but the passage of time, and the people of Gotham had not been kind. The ever-present dirt and grime of the city had turned them a mottled grey, like much of the rest of the city, and there wasn't a single moulding that didn't have some kind of damage from bullets or other weapons.

Still, none of the windows were smashed and the front door was sturdy and properly locked. Harry buzzed Mikey's third-floor flat.

"Yeah, who is it?" came a worried sounding voice. It was slightly garbled by the low-quality speaker on the secure entry system, but it was understandable.

Harry used the tone of voice he always used for official business. "Hello Mr. Young. I'm Detective Thomas with Interpol. Can I come up?"

If anything, Mikey's voice sounded more worried. "Uh, Interpol?"

"It is concerning the unusual events at La Sal last week."

"Oh, wow, I was sure the woman on the phone thought I was crazy!" Harry was relieved that the man had actually made an attempt to report what had happened. It meant he didn't have to come up with a plausible explanation for how he'd found out. A moment later, the door buzzed and Harry pushed it open. He pushed it wide enough, and held it just long enough for Zatanna to slip through behind him.

He took a moment to cast a quick detection charm on the door, so that he'd be alerted if anyone came through it before turning and looking around.

The inside of the block wasn't much better than the outside in terms of damage and general decrepitude. It was, however, pretty clean. That probably made it a pretty good place to stay, in the grand scheme of Gotham housing.

After climbing the stairs, Harry placed another detection charm at the top of the stairwell before continuing to Mikey's door. He knocked firmly, and even before the third knock, it was pulled open a crack. A face, pale and drawn, peered out between two separate chain locks.

"Hey, you don't mind showing me ID, yeah?" he asked as his eyes darted around the corridor, as if searching for the squad of goons Harry had brought with him.

"Of course," said Harry in a tone of voice that was meant to suggest that it was an everyday occurance. Harry had learned long ago that people who thought the world was collapsing around them would often cling to the smallest indication that it wasn't. A calmly confident tone of voice could net an awful lot of trust from a certain type of person. He handed across his transfigured credentials.

"Sure, seems okay man," said Mikey after giving the fake badge a once over that lasted only a fraction of a second. "Gimme a second."

The door slammed shut again, and it was shortly followed by the sound of clattering chains. A couple of seconds later, it sprung open again, and Mikey quickly ushered Harry inside. Realising that he'd try and close the door the moment Harry was through, he stopped just inside the open door. "Thanks for agreeing to see me," he said to the nervous man.

"Yeah, quick, get in so I can lock the door again," Mikey said. Every second the door remained open he became more jumpy.

Fortunately, Harry felt Zatanna slip through the doorway behind him as the man spoke, so he stepped out of the way, and let Mikey relock his door. In addition to the two chains, there was a builtin lock, plus another three yale-type locks. One of the chains, and two of the yale locks were clearly new.

It took Mikey a few seconds to get through all the different locks, and Harry used that time to take a glance around the flat.

It was messy, but it looked like the kind of mess that was recent. There was a small pile of pizza boxes and other take-out remnants beside a full bin bag in the hall that suggested the reason for the mess was that Mikey hadn't done anything but stew for the last week or so. The smell of nervous, unwashed human clung to everything.

"Thanks for believing me, man," said Mikey, turning away from his now securely locked door and drawing Harry's attention back to him. "Never met anyone in Interpol before. What does that mean?"

"Well, what you reported was exceptional," said Harry, quickly concocting something that sounded reasonable. "We thought it deserved an exceptional response."

Despite the obvious need for her to remain silent, Harry heard Zatanna chuckle and whisper into his ear from mere inches away, "If you do say so yourself."

Harry kept his face serious and continued. "I'm part of a task-force that investigates reports of supernatural events. They're more common than you might think." In a way, Harry thought, he was actually telling the complete truth. "Do you mind if we sit down? I have some questions for you."

Mikey, who'd been staring at Harry a little blankly up until that moment, jumped and realised that Harry had a point. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Come in!" He led Harry into a fairly cramped living room.

Somehow, someone had taken a room barely large enough to swing a kneazle and managed to fit in both a chair and a sofa, in addition to a tiny kitchen, which had been squeezed into one of the corners. There was an old-looking TV in another of the corners, which was showing a silenced news report. Mikey quickly moved over to where the remote had been dropped, and turned it off. From the quick glimpse Harry got, the report was something to do with a muggle space-ship accident, though there was a shot of a strange man in red and blue tights, which seemed pretty out-of-place.

Deciding it was some strange muggle or American thing, possibly a movie, he decided it wasn't important. Harry took a seat. He saw Zatanna's outline move to stand out of the way by the TV where she could glance out the window to check for anything untoward.

Once Mikey had sat down, Harry sat forward and turned to face him. "Now, Mr. Young. Would you mind telling me, in your own words, what you saw?"

"Uh, this isn't gonna get me in trouble or anything, is it?" Mikey said, looking unsure.

Harry produced his most reassuring smile. "Nothing you say will get you in any kind of hot water. We just need your help to track down the people who did this."

"Sure, sure," said Mikey as he nodded rapidly enough that Harry was worried his head might fall off. It seemed likely that Mikey was perhaps not the most stable man in the world even before he'd seen the laws of physics get casually violated. "Well, I was working the bar, y'know. It was a pretty normal night really, until there was this walk-in couple.

"Usually, the boss likes to keep a couple of tables free, for the high-rollers, y'know? Well, this guy must have been one of them, cos he flashed some cash and Paulo was all over him."

It was pretty likely that the man he was talking about was Neville, but it paid to be sure. "Can you describe… Actually, wait" —He fished around in his pocket until he found Neville's picture and pulled it out— "Is this the man you saw?"

"Yeah, sure." Mikey's head bounced up and down again. "That looks like him. You run into him before?"

Harry tucked the picture away. "Lets just say that we're acquainted," said Harry vaguely. "Now, please continue. Sorry for the interruption."

"No problem. Anyway, your man got him and his lady some seats and sat down. Dunno what they ordered, but I know they got a bottle of a real nice Rioja. Guy had good taste at least. Pretty girl too.

"Anyway, maybe fifteen minutes after they came in these goons in creepy fucken masks come in the door. They all had like machine-guns, man and everyone just fucken freaked y'know? Well, they fired at the ceiling a bunch and everyone shut up real quick. I just hid. No way I was getting involved in that shit again, y'know? Like, right under the bar, I squeezed behind some old casks, and watched through a gap.

"At first, your man didn't do anything. Didn't even see how he reacted 'cos of everyone else losing their shit, y'know? A couple of the guys in masks ran through to the kitchens and pulled out Mila, Jerome, Alphonse and the rest and put them with the others. Then the bossman of the goons started shouting at everyone. He wanted some chick called Clara, and he said he'd be on his way. Well, no-one said nothing, so he pulled up some little girl and said if Clara didn't step up, the little girl would have her true face revealed or some messed up shit like that. I mean, fuck, man, that guy was fucken' off-the-rails crazy.

"So then your man's girl stands up, and she's fucken shitting herself, y'know? Like she wanted to faint, but she fucken stood up and said that _she_ was Clara. Fucken _balls_ on that woman, man. Your man tried to stop her, but she just shoved him off. Brass ones, y'know? Anyway, a couple of the goons grab her, and the boss goon just laughs like full blown crazy fucken laugh, y'know and says he'll have fun with _both_ of them once the boss has got what he needs.

"Well, that's when the shit really hits the fan. Your man stands up, and he was _pissed_ , y'know? He pulled out this honest-to-god wand, like a wizard or some-shit, y'know? And the two goons holding her were straight up blasted, man. They went flying, y'know, no lie. Like, right into the wall. The other goons opened fire with everything they had, like bullets flying everywhere man, like a Tarentino movie or something, y'know?

"When they stopped shooting, your man was still standing there, like it wasn't no thing. Then he shot like all these lights from that wand of his, and when they hit the goons they were down like instantly. Lights out, y'know? It wasn't more than a minute and all the goons were down, but everyone was still losing their shit and the restaurant was fucked, man. Like completely trashed, y'know?

"So he waves that fucken wand again, and all the broken shit comes alive and, like, fixes itself. Like shards of glass flying through the air and suddenly becoming bottles again. Not a chip on them man. Even the spilled wine just like flew up from the floor and straight back into the bottles and glasses, y'know? If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd think I was crazy man.

"Then your man fucken disappears the goons, like completely gone no muss no fuss y'know? And turns to everyone else and says something, like obliterate, or something, yeah? And suddenly everyone just gets up and sits back where they were. Like nothing had ever happened, they just started talking again, like they'd never been interrupted, y'know? Fucken crazy shit."

Harry had remained silent through Mikey's increasingly excited recital of what had happened. In the circumstances, it had actually been remarkably coherent testimony. It was clearly some kind of catharsis for the man to get it all out in the open, as he issued a big sigh when his story finally subsided.

"That is quite the story," said Harry, trying to digest everything that had been said. There was a lot to take in. It seemed his assumption about the bad guys going after Neville was wrong, and it had been Clara they were after, though quite why Harry had no idea. It wasn't surprising that Neville had stepped in like he did. The casual mention of torture and murder was not something that Neville would ever have allowed to pass. Some things stayed with you, Harry knew.

"Shit, you believe me though, right?" Mikey said, suddenly looking worried again. "I know it's crazy, man, but you have to believe me, y'know?"

"I do," Harry soothed. "It's just a lot to take in. I'm amazed you managed to keep it together so well."

"Hey, it wasn't my first rodeo, y'know." In Gotham, that could mean anything from having a bit of a checkered upbringing, to being a regular breaker of fingers for the mob. Harry decided it was better not to press.

"Well, your testimony is remarkable," said Harry, it never hurt to stroke a witness' ego. It often made them even more willing to please. "So what happened then? Where did the man go?"

"I dunno man," said Mikey, shaking his head sadly. "He just went out the door and that was it. Left his lady friend with the bill too. She was pissed."

Then where could he have gone? It was likely that he had only captured the attackers rather than killed them. Neville may not have been an Auror, but he understood what reasonable force was, and a group of muggles, no matter how well armed, could never really be armed well enough that a well trained wizard couldn't put them down safely. If he had captured them, then they were surely the key.

"What about the goons?" Harry asked, deliberately using Mikey's own term for the attackers. "Did you recognise any of them? Or anything about them?"

"Nah, man. They were all wearing those creepy fucken masks," Mikey said with an emphatic shake of the head. It was possible he was simply staying quiet out of fear of repercussions, but Harry believed him. It was unlikely a regular barman at a fairly up-market restaurant was regularly involved in the violent crime scene. At least, no more involved than the average Gotham citizen. "Like all different ones y'know? I been out of that game ever since I got out. Not any gang I know that's for sure."

As he spoke, there was a squeal of tires on the road outside, and Harry saw Zatanna's outline jerk and the curtain twitched aside, fortunately unnoticed by Mikey. A moment later, Harry felt his downstairs alert ward trip once, twice, a half-dozen, more? Zatanna suddenly broke her disillusionment spell and materialised in the room.

She wasted no time. "We've got company. Maybe eight men with machine-guns, all wearing masks."

"Shit, fuck!" Mikey said, jumping out of his chair and tripping over his own feet to tumble to the floor. "The fuck is happening?"

"It's okay," Zatanna said in a soothing voice. "We're here to help you. But I suggest you find somewhere to hide."

"You're that magician chick the boss is always going on about," said Mikey as he looked up at her from his position sprawled on the floor.

Harry felt the men in masks pass through his second alert ward. "No time. Hide, now," he said, pointing at the kitchen, which was just a little more out of the way than the rest of the room.

No sooner had the man scrambled to his feet that there was an earsplitting burst of gunfire which likely shredded the door on its hinges. Harry looked at Zatanna, and indicated towards the cowering Mikey. There was no time for words as he ran towards the hall, even if she would have been able to hear them over the gunfire, but his meaning was clear. Keep Mikey safe.

Even as Harry moved, even before he made the hall, his wand was in motion. The chair and sofa both sprung to life and jumped towards the hall, Harry right behind them.

Whatever the masked men had been expecting, a rabid couch was not one of them. They let loose again into the body of the rapidly approaching piece of animated furniture but it completely ignored their bullets. A couch has no really vulnerable spots. No heart, no brain. It would keep moving until it was completely destroyed, or Harry released the spell.

The first two men who'd made it through the door quickly found themselves pinned beneath the heavy sofa. The many locks and chains that Mikey had installed proved a boon to Harry. Though the door was hanging loosely in three different pieces, it still clung to the doorframe on both sides, and was almost certainly the reason that only two men had managed to get through.

Before the third could clear the door, he was hit by the red light of a stunning spell. This seemed to cause the men to realise that the direct attack wasn't likely to work, and instead Harry saw one of the remaining men toss a trio of grenades around the corner.

Working quickly, Harry transfigured two of the grenades into cricket balls. The third was instantly jumped on by the single-seater chair. The thick, well aged leather, combined with heavy pile cushions contained most of the blast, though the seat's animation broke.

Another two flashes of red light splashed against the men pinned by the sofa, putting an end to their struggles. Harry then directed the sofa out of the door. It was much too small for the rampaging couch to get through quickly, but it dealt with that problem by simply ripping out a large part of the doorframe.

Harry took the opportunity afforded by the distraction that caused and apparated to the top of the stairs. He found himself surrounded by three more masked men who jumped and cried out at his sudden appearance. Their moment of distraction was enough, and a moment later the sofa barrelled into them with reckless abandon. It once again caught two of them in something not unlike a flying tackle. It, and they, crashed through the banisters, and down the stairs. The remaining man standing beside Harry barely managed to get his gun around before he joined his stunned brethren on the ground.

Harry did a quick count and realised it only came up to six. Zatanna had said eight. _He'd_ felt eight. The moment that that realisation hit him, he heard an explosion from one of the flats next door to Mikey's, and he ran as fast as he could towards the source of the noise.

In the flat, which was blessedly empty of its normal occupants, he found a hole that the remaining men must have blasted in the wall in their attempt to reach Mikey. He apparated back into the living room, wand at the ready, but lowered it with a puff of exhaled breath when he surveyed the scene.

Both men were laying on the ground right next to the hole they'd blown in the wall, bound and gagged like they were the bad guys in some kind of cartoon. Zatanna stood over both of them. She was covered in dust and debris from the exploding patch of wall which must have caught her by surprise. There was a cut on her face from a piece of flying timber stud, but she was otherwise unhurt.

"We good?" Harry asked, his breathing beginning to return to normal.

Zatanna's eyes widened, and Harry realised she was looking behind him. He wandlessly conjured a shield, knowing that one of the men thrown down the stairs by the couch must have managed to get free. The shield proved pointless, however, as even before Harry had fully appreciated that something was wrong, Zatanna extended a hand and said a single word, " _Peels!_ "

There was a thump, and Harry turned to find their last attacker unconscious on the floor.

He was just about to thank her when another voice broke through the silence. It was Padma, through the communication mirror. "Harry, is now a good time to speak?"

He couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled to the surface upon hearing her entirely innocent question. A few seconds later, he was joined by Zatanna and soon they were both doubled over with laughter.

Mikey, however, didn't see the funny side. "What the actual fuck is going on!"


	8. Chapter 8

It was a scene of mayhem and destruction, and in the middle of it, Harry and Zatanna fought to control their laughter. Some things just had to be let out or, eventually, some unfortunate soul would have to pick up the pieces.

For muggles that expression was largely metaphorical, but for wizards it could be disturbingly close to the truth. Sometimes it was better to accept the absurdity of the universe, and simply laugh it off. No matter how much Harry might want to rail against the cruel universe that seemed to want to put every conceivable obstacle in his way in his search for his friend, the chances that the universe would care were pretty minimal.

"Good timing there, Padma," Harry said breathlessly, after his laughter had subsided. She was looking through the glass at him as if she was honestly concerned that he might have lost his mind. It was an expression he had become familiar with during their time working together. He subtly turned the mirror a little so that Zatanna would not be visible to his assistant. Padma would likely have a field day if she managed to catch sight of her. "Maybe not the best time, we've got a bit of a mess here we need to clean up. Can I get back to you?"

"There's no need," said Padma peering around Harry, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever situation he'd found himself in. There was an edge of suspicion in her tone, as if she was worried whatever joke it was that Harry had been laughing at moments ago might have been on her. "Just wanted to tell you, Quigley just got back from meeting with Constantine. He stayed mum, obviously. Quigley's going places though. He dropped a knut with a listening charm in that bloody house of his. It wasn't that long before Constantine found it, but we did get to hear him mutter something about some 'Books of Magic'. That ring any bells?"

"Well, Hogwarts Library is full of them," he said vaguely as his eyes met Zatanna's. He saw them widen just fractionally. It seemed she _had_ heard of them, and judging by the reaction they weren't just any old run-of-the-mill book on magic. His gaze returned to Padma. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Quigley only just brought it to me, and I've never heard of them," said Padma as she shook her head, looking a little put out. Harry knew that she took it as a personal affront when there was something seemingly important which she did not know.

"See if the Unspeakables have anything on it," Harry suggested. He decided to cut their conversation short as he didn't have much time. "Now, I'll have to get back to you, Padma. I've got a bit of tidying up to do before the muggle police come round and see an animated couch chewing on a masked gunman's leg. They might ask questions."

"Got it," said Padma, understanding the importance of securing the scene. "Just let me know what's happening, first chance you get."

"Yes, boss," said Harry with a quick grin. "Can I go now, boss?"

Padma shot him an amused look and broke the connection, but not before she fired a parting shot. "Smartarse."

Harry looked back over at Zatanna as he dropped the mirror back into a pocket once more. "What?" he said.

"Are you sure she's the one that works for you?" she asked with an edge of amusement.

"How are you fucken laughing right now!" cried Mikey from his position crouched down, huddled in a corner against his kitchen units. "What the fuck is even happening? Just who the fuck are you?"

"Look, calm down Mikey—"

Mikey interrupted, quickly becoming hysteric again, "Calm down? Calm down! How can I fucken calm fucken down huh? You seen this shit?" He waved his arm around the room, eyes wild. "You seen this? This is not okay, man. Not fucken okay. I think losing my shit is completely fucken called for in this situation!"

Looking over to Zatanna, Harry said, "Try and keep him calm. I need to clean up this mess before too many people start asking questions."

"You do that," said Zatanna before turning to Mikey and starting to talk to him in a quiet, calming tone.

With quick, measured strides, Harry picked his way through the unconscious bodies and other debris until he was back out in the stairwell. There, he discovered a small group of people milling around and looking generally confused about what they should be doing. Two seemed to be checking up on the gunmen, while most of the others were staying at a safe distance. Sensibly, in Harry's opinion, as the men were clearly dangerous. It was a wonder the others had survived so long in Gotham. The city might as well have the motto 'See no evil', and for good reason.

Harry remembered that he had the fake Interpol badge, and pulled it out as he walked up to the group. He held it out for them all to see. "Excuse me, can everyone please step away from those men. They're currently unconscious, but they may be dangerous," he said, getting an immediate response from the group. The good samaritans, apparently not already having realised that the men armed with automatic weapons were potentially dangerous, jumped away from them like they might spontaneously combust. Harry continued, "Thank you."

"There's two more downstairs, dude," said one of the watchers, glancing nervously between Harry's badge and the unconscious men as he pointed down the stairs for emphasis. "And some kind of weird robot or something? Why's it look like a couch?"

"Thank you for the information," said Harry, noting that the man was right. That made for nine attackers. Perhaps he'd remained at the door as a watchman and only joined the party when he heard the midden hit the windmill. "For your own safety, can I request that everyone return to their rooms while we deal with this mess."

There was some muttering, and a couple of burlier men postured a bit, but they weren't about to disagree with a man that had apparently put down a group of at least four thugs with guns without taking so much as a scratch. Harry wasn't as tall as Ron, nor was he ever quite so broad-shouldered as Neville had latterly become, but Aurors tended to pick up a way of holding themselves that said 'don't fuck with me' in no uncertain terms. Gothamites who wanted to continue living their lives tended to be fairly adept at reading such people, so they soon dispersed. He made his way down the stairs where he found another group of people, this one a little larger as it presumably included people from the lower floors.

His animated sofa was still pinning the two men it had tackled, though it looked like it was unnecessary. One was out cold with a nasty looking gash on the back of his head. He probably had a nasty concussion from the fall, among other bumps and bruises. The other had both an arm and a leg bent in unnatural directions. Either dislocated or broken, Harry couldn't tell.

It certainly looked painful, but the man was making no noise beyond his shaky, laboured breaths.

Figuring it couldn't hurt, as the muggles had seemingly decided that the animated sofa was in fact just some kind of camouflaged muggle robot, Harry directed the couch to return to Mikey's flat and it immediately complied, bounding up the stairs like an eager puppy. Hopefully it wouldn't send their guy spiralling again. That hope was dashed when, a few seconds after the sofa had disappeared from view, there was a high-pitched scream that was abruptly cut off.

The group of people downstairs had stared at the sofa as it rocketed back up the stairs and one of them spoke up, "The fuck was that, man?"

"Can't say," said Harry before he decided to add. "Plausible deniability, you understand? Can you all please return to your homes. We need to keep this area secure. You'll be able to leave shortly."

Once again, the group of people cleared themselves away, and Harry was at last left alone. After glancing around to ensure he was mostly unobserved, he pulled out his wand and got to work.

The first thing he did, somewhat surreptitiously, was cast a simple little spell that sent a swarm of small black blobs in all directions to block anyone from watching him through their peep-holes. It had the additional effect of locking them in their rooms until Harry was able to deal with them individually. That didn't go unnoticed, and soon the corridor was filled with the rattling of door handles and a range of shouting voices running the full spectrum from angry to panicked. As something of an afterthought, he cast his overload spell again, ensuring there would be no more communication in or out of the building.

Anyone who'd already left, he could simply ignore. Even if they could get someone to believe them, there would be no evidence left once Harry was done. It would be shrugged off as a hoax. It was one area where muggle technological advancement had actually proven to be a boon to witches and wizards everywhere. Anyone could fake a video or photograph of something magical. Even real breaches of the statute of secrecy were treated as mere convincing fakes.

With the muggles properly contained, he took a few seconds to transfigure the two gunmen at the bottom of the stairs into beetles. Murdering bastards they may very well be, but he didn't want them dying from a bit of duff transfiguration. He stuffed them away in a box in one of his expanded pockets. He paused for a moment, as he felt there was something important he was missing before quickly switching pockets. It wouldn't do for them to be eaten by the Venomous Tentacula, if it was still alive.

Repairing the damage to the stairs was much easier. Soon the broken sections of bannister were dancing through the air as they put themselves back together. As they marched in narrow ranks back to their allotted places, Harry was reminded of a cartoon he'd watched before the Christmas holiday once when he'd been in primary school. Harry vanished the guns and single smear of blood on one wall and made his way back up stairs.

There, he repeated the process. He transfigured the unconscious bodies of the attackers and added them to his beetle collection and then repaired the broken doors, both Mikey's and his neighbours'. He then set about returning Mikey's flat to rights. The chair, which had been mostly shredded by the grenade explosion, was soon looking as good as new. He sent it quickly scampering back to the living room to resume its usual position.

Finally, Harry repaired the hole in the wall, and the lingering damage to the couch. He glanced around and nodded to himself. It looked exactly as he remembered.

"Right," he said to Zatanna, who was leaning casually against the kitchen top with an unconscious Mikey slumped on the floor. "Uhh, what happened to him?"

"Well, I'd just about got him calmed down when that couch of his charged back into the room," she said. Despite her words she didn't seem too put out. "Passed right out. You finished cleaning up?"

"Just give me a couple of minutes to make sure no-one remembers anything," said Harry as he walked out of the room. In their current situation, there was really no alternative to obliviation. They'd be happier not remembering, Mikey was proof positive of that.

When he returned to the room, Mikey was still passed out cold, though Zatanna had moved him to his chair. Upon entering, Harry realised he'd forgotten something. "What happened to the last three guys, did you clear them up?" he asked. Always best to be sure.

Zatanna pulled out three playing cards with unusual designs and flashed them at Harry. "You want them?"

"That's some nice work," Harry said, impressed. Human to inanimate transfiguration was a tricky business, made all the trickier if they were unwilling subjects. "You can keep hold of them. We'll have a chat with them shortly, I'm sure."

"How are we going to play this, then?" Zatanna asked, glancing once more around the room. "Are you going to wipe everything, or just the attack?"

Harry thought about it for a moment before deciding that actually, it was probably best to wipe everything, including the attack on the restaurant. Just let the guy think he'd had a really bad panic attack or something. It was a little cruel, but he'd been out of work for nearly a week, and there was nothing he could do to cover for that.

"I'll wipe it all," he said. He liked to be thorough.

"Good, he's clearly been a mess since your friend pulled his stunt at La Sal," said Zatanna, readily agreeing with his plan.

Harry turned back to Mikey, and for hopefully the last time that day, he incanted, " _Obliviate_."

Before the man could come around, Harry reached over and took Zatanna by the arm before they both disapparated with a loud pop.

They reappeared in Harry's hotel room. Zatanna immediately pulled away from Harry and doubled over.

"Oh, sorry," said Harry, belatedly realising that a surprise side-along apparation was not the most pleasant of experiences. "I probably should have warned you."

Fortunately, she didn't take long to recover, and it did not involve her making a mess of the hotel's squishy carpets. "Yeah, maybe some warning next time. I don't usually apparate. I think I'll stick with ordinary teleportation, thanks."

It was a much more comfortable method of travel, but it required a bit more time and preparation than simple apparation. Harry had tried it once or twice after seeing how smooth it was when Constantine did it. He hadn't seen the point. Ultimately, apparation, portkeys and teleportation were much the same, it was just a question of comfort and control against speed. Perhaps Harry was too impatient to wait the couple of seconds it took to perform the teleportation spell.

"I'll let you handle it in future," he said, before adding, "assuming we're not in immediate danger, that is."

"In that case, remind me to avoid immediate danger," said Zatanna wryly. She was clearly feeling recovered enough that her sense of humour was returning.

Harry smiled, if only it were that easy. "Good plan. Now, what did Constantine mean by the 'Books of Magic'? There's thousands of books of magic."

"He wouldn't have been talking about any old book on magic," said Zatanna, her previous good mood forgotten. "He meant the Books of Magic. They're said to be the source of all magic. Only a few even know about the legend, my father was one of them."

Harry moved over to the table that looked out over the balcony and sat down. "What can you tell me about them?"

"I know a bit, but not everything," she said, joining him at the table. "Remember when I said my father disappeared for years, and I stayed with Nick?"

He did. "Your father's student," he said.

"Yes, well, the reason he disappeared? He was looking for the Books of Magic," said Zatanna, "Him and some... well they weren't friends really, more like associates? Well, they went off looking for the Books. I don't know what happened but one day, out of the blue, my father came back. He said he'd given up searching, that they weren't worth it."

Gave up after years, just like that? That didn't sit right at all. "Do you think it's possible they actually found what they were looking for?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" she said, looking torn. "I never really thought about it at the time. I was just so happy to have him back."

"Do you think he might have told Constantine about what happened?"

"I don't think so," she said slowly. "Not directly, anyway. He must have said something to Nick though."

That was unexpected. "Why do you say that?"

Zatanna stayed silent for a few seconds, but eventually she broke her silence. "Look, what happened between me, Nick and John was ugly. I really don't like talking about it, but towards the end, Nick became... obsessed with the Books. Even worse than my father had been."

"And that's why you broke up," Harry extrapolated. Perhaps he owed Constantine an apology.

"Broke up doesn't quite cover it." She picked at something on the table. "He was distant, and John was there and you know he has that weird charm of his."

No, Harry didn't know. Well, he'd seen it in action, but he'd never been able to understand it. Was Constantine's bad-boy attraction really that great? "Go on."

"Well, Nick couldn't get much out of my father on the Books," she continued. "But he assumed me and John knew something. Thought we were conspiring against him. At the end I don't think he even cared that I basically left him for John. All that mattered to him by then was the books."

Harry thought he could see where the story was going.

"Well, he confronted us. Tried to force us to tell him everything," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "He'd set up a ritual circle, and threatened to activate it and send us to a hell dimension if we didn't tell him."

Harry could see what it was costing her to tell him the story, so he decided to take pity on her. "But I'm guessing Constantine found some way to reverse the ritual, and it was Nick that got banished?"

She smiled uncertainly, but Harry could see she was grateful for not having to say it. "Yes. John and I broke up for a while after that."

"Are these Books really that important?" Harry asked, finding it hard to imagine anything was worth that kind of suffering.

Zatanna just shrugged, efficiently communicating for Harry that they weren't that important to her, but they seemed to be important to other people. He could understand that.

They sat in silence for a while, considering what they'd learned. Eventually, Harry was moved to speak. "Okay, let's set that aside for a moment. What about our friends from Mikey's flat?"

After almost visibly shaking herself from whatever melancholic thoughts had been occupying her, Zatanna looked up and met Harry's gaze. "They're False Facers," she said with no small degree of certainty. "No doubt about it. Both at the restaurant and at Mikey's."

"So, what does that tell us?"

"Nothing good," said Zatanna thoughtfully. "They're bad news…" She trailed off, her eyes going distant.

Suddenly, there was an injection of energy into her body language. "Actually, maybe there is something. There was a news report last week, maybe a couple of days after the La Sal attack? A guy was found beaten and bound outside GCPD HQ. I remember the video of him, he was ranting about having his face stolen."

She stood up and started pacing, snapping her fingers as she tried to recall something. "What was his name, what was it?"

Harry wasn't sure where she was going with her line of thought, and tried to interject. "So—"

"Sionis!" said Zatanna triumphantly, cutting Harry off in her excitement. "Roman Sionis. They will have dragged him off to Arkham of course."

"Why is that useful to us?" Harry said, still not really following.

"He's from a really connected family. Big in the cosmetics business," she explained quickly. "If he's involved with the False Facers, he'll know more than our street goons."

"We should question them anyway," he said, "Maybe they'll have something useful at least. For instance; were they there for Mikey, or for us?"

"No harm in trying, I suppose," Zatanna allowed. "I just wouldn't hold out much hope of getting anything useful out of them. The two that broke through the wall at the flat tried to convince me to surrender and they had the same weird dead voice you said the taxi driver had. What are we going to do with them?"

"Well, it seems this city is fairly comfortable with the idea of thugs being dropped off on the police's doorstep in the night." That was certainly the simplest solution.

"I see where you're going, but we don't have any evidence of their crimes. The GCPD would have no choice but to release them straight away," said Zatanna, pointing out a major flaw in that plan. "Batman always leaves irrefutable evidence. They don't just lock up anyone who turns up chained to their fence."

She had a point, Harry realised. It wouldn't be impossible to come up with good evidence, but it would take time, and that was something they didn't have in abundance. "You're probably right. We can't just let them walk free though."

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "But we also can't hold them ourselves." He might be playing somewhat fast-and-loose with the law, but after what had happened to Sirius, the thought of consigning someone to lifetime imprisonment without due process was simply not something Harry could consider as a possibility. Even if he was sure of their guilt, the Aurors that had arrested Sirius had been sure of his guilt too.

"Maybe we should see what they have to say for themselves first?"

Harry suspected that that was merely putting off the uncomfortable decision, but he nonetheless jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, we can decide what we're going to do with them later."

He reached into the pocket where he'd placed the transfigured beetles, and pulled them out. He conjured a little tub and deposited them into it. Zatanna threw her three playing cards in too, and Harry wondered, if the beetles woke up, if they'd try and eat the playing cards. That would be unfortunate.

He selected one of the beetles at random, though taking care to avoid the one with the broken legs. A few seconds later, the untransfigured gunman was lying unconscious on the floor of the hotel room. " _Rennervate_."

The process of waking up from being stunned was a strange one that Harry had experienced a few times. It was categorically _not_ like waking up. Being hit by a stunning spell didn't result in falling asleep, instead it was as if the spell went into your head and found a little switch marked 'off'. It was pretty much an instant reversible coma.

As a result, the confusion felt when returning to consciousness was significantly greater. For a wizard that understood what was happening, it perhaps wasn't quite so unsettling but for a muggle it could be terrifying. The last thing the man had seen was, likely, an animated couch trying to eat either him or his companions, and a bright flash of red that grew to consume him. As far as he was concerned no time had passed. The brain also had a pretty strong attachment to the idea that reality was a fixed construct and did not randomly change around it for no reason.

So in most cases when woken from the effects of a stunning spell muggles tended to have immediate panic attacks.

It was a bit surprising, then, that at the moment Harry's revivification spell took effect the man jumped to his feet and tried to tackle Harry.

He may even have made contact if Zatanna hadn't been faster. " _Dnib htiw sepor_!" she said rapidly. The result of the strange incantation was a large number of thick ropes materialising out of thin air to trap the man.

No sooner had he reached his feet, than he fell to the ground again with a muffled grunt, immobilised again.

"Thanks," said Harry, as he glanced across at her.

"No problem."

Crouching down on his haunches, Harry leaned over and turned his head so that the man could see him. "Well, now that was rude. Why don't you tell me why you attacked me and my friend?"

"You were warned," said the man, his blank face and level tone similar to the cabby from the day before. "Now your friend must suffer, and you must die."

Harry grabbed the man and hauled him upright. He was shocked to discover that he weighed almost nothing. Thick clothes aside, he was little more than skin and bone. "If you hurt him," said Harry after throwing him up against the table. "I will make sure you never see the sun again, do you understand?"

"I am but the instrument," said the man, showing no sign that being bent backwards over a table with Harry's hand on his neck was in any way uncomfortable. "I am the knife, yes, that is my true face. The Black Mask has seen it, as you saw it. The knife does not cause suffering. It is through your choices that you have directed me."

It was going to be another of those conversations, Harry realised. He rubbed his forehead wearily and straightened up. "Who is the Black Mask?"

"He is a puppet on your strings, like me," said the man as he wriggled himself into a position where he could continue to stare unflinchingly into Harry's eyes. "Only, his sight is clear. He sees the strings and he seeks to break them, to free us all. He has read of the scriptures."

That was worrying. Did he mean Harry specifically, the magical world? "What do you mean, my strings?"

"Those who rule the world," said the man before falling silent and saying no more.

They tried questioning two others, getting much the same result from each of them before they gave it up as a bad job.

"I don't think we're going to get anywhere with this," said Zatanna after she returned their most recent interrogatee to the transfigured form of a playing card. "They're all clearly brain-washed by this Black Mask."

Harry had to reluctantly agree. They were more like cultists than gang members. "You're right. We need someone higher up the food chain if we want to find out what might have happened to Neville."

"Then you'll go after Sionis?"

She was probably right, it was the best plan of action, but he still didn't like the idea of breaking into a prison. He sighed. "Okay, tell me about Arkham Asylum."

"Well, it's an asylum for the criminally insane," said Zatanna in the tone of one who thought that that told him everything he needed to know.

"I got that bit," he responded. "What I mean, is what kind of security does it have?"

"Well, it's as much a prison as it is an asylum," she said slowly. "I assume it will have some pretty impressive defences."

Harry realised that Zatanna had clearly never actually been into the asylum, and was working largely from impression and rumour. If he was going to sneak in, he'd have to work it out himself. "Okay, never mind. If I'm going in blind, it might be best if I do it alone. I have my cloak, which should keep me hidden, but if they're as highly strung as you seem to think, I imagine that ordinary invisibility might not cut it."

"You're probably right," said Zatanna and fortunately, she didn't seem to have taken any affront at being asked to hang back. "I should see if any of my father left any notes to do with the Books of Magic. Maybe there's something I missed, or he didn't tell me."

"That's a good plan." He'd almost allowed himself to forget their other mystery. He fished around in a pocket and pulled out a spare communication mirror. "In that case, take this. If you find anything important, just speak my name to it and it'll connect to mine."

"Right," she said, taking it from him. "Be careful out there. Arkham has a bad reputation, even for Gotham."

Harry smiled reassuringly. "I'll do my best. Oh, if you run into any trouble, you can either contact me, or smash the mirror. I'll know immediately."

"Thanks, Harry," she said, before tracing the strange shapes required to complete the teleportation spell. A glowing ritual circle appeared at her feet, and a moment later she winked out of sight, ritual circle and all.

He had to admit, it did look like a nice way of travelling. He glanced over at the oversized clock which was hung on the wall. Just about lunch-time. Maybe he could get some room service before he headed off to investigate Arkham Asylum.

He tried to push aside his rising concerns about just what had happened to his friend, but failed. Perhaps he'd get something to-go instead.


	9. Chapter 9

Arkham was nothing less than a fortress, and it was an imposing one at that. Everything bad Harry had ever heard about places like Bedlam was realised in the walled compound that grew out of blighted ground like some kind of angular fungus. The first thing that he noticed was tall walls made of bare concrete. There were two concentric sets; all of them were topped with some of the most wickedly barbed wire Harry had ever seen.

There was only one route into the compound. A long, dark, tree-lined road ran straight up to the walls and passed through a huge steel gate manned by no fewer than five men. All of them were armed with stun guns and pistols and truncheons. As Harry ghosted by under his cloak he also noted a locked cabinet that likely contained much heavier weaponry.

Beyond the walls were the actual buildings of Arkham Asylum. They played to the most melodramatic sensibilities of Gotham's architecture in a way that made Harry wonder if it was really best for the patients. Surely waking up to the sight of a snarling gargoyle staring in through your window was not a recipe for quick mental recovery?

Perhaps once it had been a manor-house of some form; it certainly didn't look like it had been originally built to be an institution. Once it must have been grand indeed, but the years and Gotham's wet climate had not been kind to it. Despite obvious regular repair and maintenance, the building looked more like a child's idea of a haunted house than any kind of legitimate medical facility. Dirt and grime caked once white walls. Windows were choked by vines and creepers. In many places the vines had been hacked off at the base in an attempt to stymie their growth.

It had really granted only a temporary reprieve, but it also meant that much of the house was covered in the skeletal remains of those same plants. All in all, looking at the house and hearing the occasional distant scream of anguish issuing from some unseen window, Harry almost started believing in MACUSA's dark curse theory. If it was true then this place was surely at the very centre of it.

He made his way, quiet and unseen beneath his cloak, across the yard in front of the main wing of the Asylum. When he took his first step up the stairs to the main doors he had to suppress a shiver.

There were some places that seemed to soak up the pain and suffering of those who'd passed through their halls. Once, he'd thought it was a quality unique to Azkaban and the Dementors which had once infested it but a trip to the ruins of Nurmengard quickly demonstrated the falseness in that particular belief. Perhaps it was the blood that had been spilled over them, or perhaps it was something altogether darker; the desires that had led to that spilled blood. Whatever it was it had seeped into the stone and into the ground, and stained it in more ways than one.

Even with the Dementors long gone, no-one slept easy on Azkaban island.

Arkham Asylum, it seemed, would be joining the very short list of places that Harry hoped never again to have to set foot in. As one of his Auror recruits had once said of Azkaban: it gave him the willies.

He apparated through the locked doors into what once had been a grand entrance hall. It had clearly seen some significant redesign in recent years and contained one of the least welcoming welcome desks Harry had ever seen. It was contained completely in a metal box with just two little windows, layered with thick perspex and broad metal bars. The whole space was deserted, which only added to the haunted atmosphere of the whole building.

After a couple of abortive attempts to locate his quarry, in which he'd been stymied by the sheer number of people moving around, he'd elected to wait for evening. Most of the staff had gone home for the evening, and the more permanent denizens locked up for the night. That meant it was indeed far easier to move around. It was also significantly more unsettling.

To make him feel a little better he silently conjured the same dark-light he'd used in Gotham Botanic Gardens. With a flick of his hand it rose high towards the ceiling and its light increased until the whole space looked to him like it was bathed in bright sunlight.

Another silent apparation and Harry was inside the secure reception 'desk'. He glanced around, looking for any information that might prove useful.

It was spartan but lived in. He'd already seen just how tight the security around the asylum was and it was obvious that the receptionists were little better than prisoners themselves during work hours. There were two very worn swivel chairs tucked under the desk by two dented computers. The desk was strewn with papers though even a cursory glance told Harry that they were mostly bureaucratic nonsense, and of no use to him.

His eyes came to rest on a small but very sturdy-looking filing cabinet. What were the chances that it contained some patient files, in case visitors wanted information?

He still didn't touch anything though. He'd seen how Neville had been betrayed by a few unlocked doors. There were two cameras watching the room, their little red lights like unblinking eyes.

The easy thing to do would be to disable them, but while he might get away with that once or maybe even twice, it would soon start to arouse suspicion. Fortunately for him, however, it was also possible to confund such devices. He flicked his wand at one camera, then the other, and if anyone was watching their live feed they would be seeing footage from five minutes previously. The red lights winked off.

A quick unlocking charm got him access to the cabinet. He only had a few minutes of freedom to check but he soon came to the realisation that he would not find what he was looking for in the cabinet. One drawer was largely empty. The other was filled with what looked like admission forms and other paperwork.

The only thing of use that he did find was a much-folded and dog-eared map of the asylum. It only had the rooms numbered, and with no names visible. That wasn't much help. He'd have to get into the computer to find anything of value.

He still had a couple of minutes before the cameras started recording again, and one of the machines was already on. It was locked, and required a password to open, but the wonderful thing about magic was that it didn't really care _how_ something was locked.

Another unlocking charm, and he was into the computer. He thanked whatever kind deity may have been listening when the first screen he was greeted with was a patient registry database. He typed Sionis' name into a search bar somewhat laboriously and checked the resulting page.

He'd been committed to the highest security wing due to him exhibiting violent delusions and paranoia. There was a warning note that it was likely, due to the nature of his instability, that he possessed murderous tendencies. A further note also stated that he should be considered extremely intelligent and capable of masterful emotional manipulation during his periods of lucidity.

He sounded just lovely.

With his time nearly up, Harry closed the search and turned the screen back off. It was not a moment too soon, and just as he did so the red lights on the cameras flickered back to life.

The high security wing, according to the map he'd filched, had only one way in or out; a subterranean tunnel that connected to the main building.

With a twist, he silently apparated back out of the reception office and made his way over to a service stairwell. From the look of it, it was used only rarely as there was a thick layer of dust and grime on both the floor and banister. He assumed that most people came and went to the basement levels using the elevator.

When he reached the correct basement level, after double checking his map to make sure he was on the right path, Harry encountered his first guard. On closer inspection, it was actually hard to tell, he supposed it was possible that the man was a nurse, or orderly. He'd never seen a nurse carrying weapons before, but who knew what counted for normal in such a benighted place.

Unlike the atrium the basement level was well lit and filled with the quiet buzzing of ageing strip lights. The orderly looked relaxed as he walked down the corridor. Sometimes it was amazing just what people could get used to. Harry checked the map and guessed that he was probably on the way to the break room.

Harry headed in the opposite direction and, after a short journey down a few more identical featureless corridors, he came to a door that looked more like it belonged in a bank than any kind of mental institution. Two men, armed similarly to the men he'd seen at the front gate, guarded it with stoic expressions. A slim, blonde haired woman in a white-coat was chatting to one of them very conversationally, but not getting much in return.

"Geeze, Mr. K," she said in obvious frustration, after clearly not getting very far in her attempts to win the two men over. "Can't ya let a girl have some excitement in her life?"

"Believe me, you don't want that kind of excitement, Harleen," said the man she'd been talking to. Unless Harry was mistaken, there was a little bit of fatherly affection there. "You know the rules. Finish your degree, then you can have your pick of the crazies."

Despite the guard's attempt to be reasonable, she threw up her arms dramatically, and stomped off, right past Harry. As she flounced by, and never had Harry before seen a gait more suited to being described by that word, she paused for a moment to offer a parting shot. "You shouldn't call them crazies, ya know?"

The two guards just chuckled, which apparently simply frustrated her further. She huffed, spun on her heel and quickly rounded the corner without looking back.

"She has no idea," said the guard who up until that moment hadn't spoken a word in Harry's hearing.

"She'll learn," said the first guard with a fond smile, though Harry thought his words sounded worryingly ominous.

Setting aside his concerns over just how crazy Arkham's crazies really were, he apparated the short distance through the security door. The other side looked very similar to where he had just come from, even down to two more almost identical-looking guards. The access corridor to the high security wing had clearly not been so carefully constructed as the basement levels he'd just been in. The concrete walls were cracked and spalled in places and there was the ever-present sound of dripping. The lighting in the tunnel was more sparse than it had been before. Instead of the overhead strip-lights there were flickering orange hued lights embedded along the bottom of the wall, where it met the floor. They cast deep shadows over the pitted and uneven floor. On a couple of occasions, Harry had to stop himself from stepping in puddles of standing water, partially concealed by the shadows.

At the far end of the tunnel was another huge door and another set of guards who were quickly bypassed. Harry then made his way into the residence portion of the high-security wing.

Once again, he found himself being reminded of Azkaban and Nurmengard. The only difference was where they were dark and poorly lit, the halls of Arkham were almost dazzlingly bright. Dark tiles, scratched, cracked, and deeply worn covered the floor, while the walls were clad in newer-looking white tiling. Every few meters the walls were punctuated by the bare metal of heavy doors. Each door had a small hatch at eye-height and another at floor level. None had any holes for keys, nor even so much as a doorknob or handle.

As Harry moved silently down the corridor towards the room which had been assigned to Sionis, he peered in through a few of the open hatches.

Most of the rooms contained ordinary looking people, though there were one or two oddities. One patient had covered the walls of his room with writing and symbols. Harry couldn't understand what it was all about, but there were a great number of question marks of different sizes scattered around the scrawlings. Another room contained a man who'd clearly been in some kind of horrific accident, half his face burned and peeling. He was staring unblinking at a large coin which he was flipping over repeatedly in his hands.

The last room Harry looked into before he reached Sionis' cell contained a red-headed woman with a very strange green pallor to her skin. As he passed her by, he could hear her humming as she stroked the leaves of a small, leafy plant. He stopped for a moment and peered in, he recognised her from some of the newspapers he'd read after finding out that it was her plant that Neville had taken. She was Poison Ivy.

He took a mental note to return to her cell once he was done with Sionis. She'd been locked up since before Neville had gone missing, but that didn't mean she knew nothing about whatever might have happened. He continued walking.

At last, he reached his destination. He looked through the little window into the room beyond to see Sionis perched on the edge of his bed and staring into space. Unlike many of the other rooms there was no sign of any attempt at personalization. The good news was that it didn't look like there were any cameras in the cells themselves. A strange decision, but one that Harry appreciated. It made his life much easier.

Harry cast a muggle repelling charm on the outside of the door before apparating inside. It wouldn't do for someone to walk in on him while he was interrogating Sionis. After a moment's thought, he included a secrecy charm. The walls might be thick, but he didn't want to risk the chance that the other inmates might be able to overhear their conversation.

He closed the grate on the door, which prompted Sionis' head to whip around to stare at the source of the noise. Not one to take any chances, Harry cast a silent body-bind on Sionis before at last removing the invisibility cloak.

There was really only one way he'd be able to get information out of a crazed gang enforcer. Intimidation.

"Now," he began in a low, threatening voice. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to give me answers. I'm pretty tired of this whole run-around, and this place isn't helping my good mood, so I suggest you answer quickly and succinctly, understand?"

With a flick of one hand, he released Sionis' head from the body bind. Despite his newfound freedom, he still did not move. His dark, shuttered eyes simply stayed fixed on Harry, unblinking.

Those eyes were all too familiar to Harry. That closed off look? They were the eyes of one who knew themselves to stand apart from all others. A person who saw other people as nothing more than particularly intriguing animals, and animals as little more than toys to be used and abused for their own amusement. They were closed to the world outside because, to them, the whole world _was_ the one inside their own head. The world beyond was more like a game; the people, mere actors.

They were the eyes of the very worst kind of psychopath.

Finally, he spoke. "Well, now. Why should I tell you anything?" Where Harry had been expecting to find the raving lunatic Zatanna had described from the news reports, instead he found him to be exceptionally well-spoken.

Sionis continued, "I am not an unreasonable man, no matter what my gaolers might say. I am not saying I will not tell you anything, merely that nothing in this world comes for free. So what will you offer me for this information?"

"How about you give me the information, and I give you the gift of unbroken fingers?" said Harry as he prowled back and forth twirling his wand. The man put him on edge. Hell, all of Arkham put him on edge.

The threat fell on deaf ears, though. Sionis merely chuckled in response. "Come now, mysterious intruder. Do you think that I, of all people, do not recognise a mask when I see it? I have played this game a thousand times from your side. If you were truly capable of using violence to get me to talk, you wouldn't have made threats. I never did. I grew up surrounded by masks. You cannot fool me. So I ask again: what will you offer in equal exchange?"

Fuck. And what made it worse was that the man was right. There were lines which Harry would never cross. He'd seen the world beyond that line, and he didn't like it one bit. Maybe he could deal, though. He felt no need to uphold his end of the bargain with a murderer and self-confessed torturer.

"Tell me who Black Mask is, and where I can find him and perhaps we can come to an arrangement," he said eventually.

"You still think you can hide behind masks?" said Sionis, shaking his head as if dealing with an errant child. "But perhaps I can be magnanimous. A free sample, if you will.

"The Black Mask is me or, rather, the Black Mask is what the world sees when I reveal my true face to them, shorn of this… tiresome facade." He paused for a moment before smiling. "As for where the Black Mask may be found? Well, here I am."

That didn't add up. Sionis had been incarcerated during both of the attacks on Harry himself. "If you are the Black Mask then who's leading the False Facers now?"

"You get only one free sample," said Sionis evenly. "I would not be much of a businessman if I simply gave away my most valuable commodity."

"Who says you'd be giving it away for free?" said Harry, as an idea occurred to him. "Your men have betrayed you, abandoned you to this place. Why protect them?"

That got something more than the previous amused disdain. For just a fraction of a second, there was a tightness to his face, and anger flashed in his eyes. "Nothing more than a trick, they are mine. It was I that revealed to them the true face of the world, and it was me who showed them the freedom of finding their own. I own them!"

"And yet here you are, locked up in a tiny cell while they are still out there, carrying on as if the loss of your leadership means nothing," said Harry. He'd found a weak point in the man's defences, now he just needed to poke at it until they broke down completely. "Perhaps it does mean nothing. They seem to be doing well for themselves."

The anger flashed across his features again, less well concealed this time. "You have no idea! Before I found them, they were lost. Together we will free you all from your self-imposed tyranny. No imposter can stand in the way of my destiny as it was revealed. My Society will be saviors, and I will be their messiah."

"Seems they got bored of their messiah," Harry needled. "Or maybe they got sick of your small-minded attacks on random citizens? Where's the big statement, huh?"

Despite the body-bind, Sionis was vibrating with indignation. "It was stolen from me! It was mine! And they took it. The Ivy bitch cooked it up, but it was my dream! Me! No-one else's. Wayne believes he owns the world, but he doesn't own this. _He_ stole it. It would have been beautiful, like waking the world from a dream. I could have revealed to all the lies in which everyone traps themselves. Choice, freedom, morality. All lies. Masks we wear to hide what we truly are."

Something in the tirade rang a bell with Harry, but it took a moment for him to realise just what it was. Dreams. The Venomous Tentacula had been spliced, somehow, with Madagascan Dream Grass.

He decided to take a stab in the dark. "A bush? That was your great destiny? No wonder your cultists abandoned you. I'm sure your replacement had some much better ideas."

"A bush? A bush! It was no mere bush. It was my destiny, it was yours. It would have freed the world! It said so!" His eyes rolled about in his gaunt face as he ranted and raved, sending his spit flying through the air. "The false one, the Child of Tears. He has no destiny; he was not written in truth. Lies, lies! He wishes to cleanse, but he does not understand. Not yet."

Then, quite suddenly, Sionis took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When they reopened the rage was gone, buried deep and hidden once again behind those dark shutters. "He will understand, though. He will see the truth, if he has not already seen it."

He tilted his head and stared at Harry, unblinking. "I did not see it before, but now I do. I see you, I see your true face. You are a Child of Tears too. You should rejoice, for the ascendancy of your empire is soon."

Harry started to feel an uneasy sensation churning in the pit of his stomach. There was something about what the man was saying that was not your run-of-the-mill insanity. Or perhaps it was just that Arkham was getting to him. Child of Tears, though? He pulled out the picture of Neville and held it in front of Sionis. "What did you do to this man?"

The manic laughter that began to trickle from the man soon grew into a torrent, and it would not abate. Harry silenced him, but his laughter did not even slow. Even stunning him and reviving him did not help, as soon as his consciousness returned, the giggling soon followed and in a few seconds, he was roaring once again with unrestrained laughter.

The urge to punch the man was rapidly growing, but he knew it wouldn't achieve anything. The man was completely insane, and would likely find it to be a source of further hilarity. Instead, he closed his eyes, and apologised to his past and future self for what he was about to do.

" _Legilimens!_ "

He hated legilimency with a passion. Ever since those lessons half a lifetime ago in the office of Severus Snape. It was a violation of the most fundamental kind when done without permission which Harry tried to avoid at all costs. By its very nature it tended to blur the line that separated your inner self from everyone else. Both the caster and the victim saw that line scrubbed out for a few brief seconds. When it returned it was just a little out of shape, and who knew what unseen dark thoughts had crept through the momentary breach?

A trained legilimens could reduce that flow, but it could never be truly stopped as so much of the self was tied up in memory. A man with a dislike of dogs might trace that feeling to a singular point in time, and the memory it created. If a legilimens was to view that memory they too would feel what that man had felt, if perhaps only as an echo. Echoes could last a long time indeed in the dark, hidden spaces of the human mind.

It would not instill within them the same hatred of dogs that it had created in the one who originally experienced it, but it might just give them pause. The next time they encountered a dog the echo of that experience would be heard, and it would at least give them pause. The memory of their victim continued to live in the memories of the legilimens, and the human mind is not familiar with the concept that it can contain memories that are not its own.

Harry valued the sanctity of his own mind, and his own memories. Polluting them with the warped dreams of a mad-man was nothing less than repugnant. But his friend was in danger, and he needed something to go on. Anything.

His consciousness plunged into the chaotic whirlpool of Roman Sionis' memories. In less than a second he'd glimpsed a million moments, all jumbled up together. Each more fleeting than a mayfly, and as slippery as an eel. There was a fire. Unreadable symbols like raindrops, glowing in darkness. A gruesome murder. Masks, so many masks. A ruined coffin. Then, for the briefest of moments, there was Neville, looking angry, but before Harry could grasp the memory, it was gone again and Harry was cast adrift once more.

More masks. A beautiful woman with a painted face. A dark room filled with throbbing music. A man, his face skinned. The woman from before, but her face was burned off. A raccoon. Another woman, the green one from the other cell. Neville, standing above him holding a mask. Blackness, and distant chittering laughter. A dark shade in the shape of a Bat, looming over a city of shadows.

Suddenly Harry found himself back in his own body, disoriented and swaying. He reached out with a hand to steady himself on the wall until the world stopped spinning. He soon realised why he'd been expelled. Sionis, still sitting upright thanks to the body bind, was completely unconscious.

A quick spell confirmed that he was still alive, which caused Harry to sigh in relief. He sat down on the end of the narrow, knobbly bed and dropped his head into his palms.

That had been exactly as bad as he'd thought it would be. Delving into the memories of a mass-murderer and psychopath was never going to be a ticket to happy town, but at least his mental state was so fractured that he hadn't been able to catch more than the briefest flashes. He'd seen Neville, but again it had looked like he was in control of the situation. What had happened since Sionis had been hauled in to Arkham? Was it Neville that had captured him? Everyone seemed to have assumed that it was the Batman, but there was that memory of Neville holding an ebony mask...

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. What had happened to Sionis' mind that had caused him to go so completely mad? In the memories Harry had seen the man was cruel, vain, and manipulative, yes, but there had always been some method there, some strategy that could be served.

Was it the Tentacula hybrid that had done it? He still hadn't sent it along to Padma for the Unspeakables to investigate. Perhaps he should. He was beginning to feel uneasy about having it so close. Was it possible that the Dream Grass had influenced Sionis' mind?

He would need to wait to hear from the Unspeakables to know if that was possible, but even if it was it didn't get him any closer to knowing what had happened to Neville. He punched the bed in frustration. It felt like he'd exhausted every avenue. Eventually he stood up. It was long past time he left, but before he did perhaps he should try asking the green-skinned woman some questions too.

Before he left, he made sure to obliviate anything untoward from the mind of Sionis, and spelled the shutter back open. It wouldn't do for someone to notice those small incongruities. With his invisibility cloak back on, and his silencing charms reapplied, he apparated back out into the corridor to remove the muggle repelling charm on the door.

He moved back along the corridor towards the cell which he presumed belonged to the woman referred to by the news as Poison Ivy. Before he got there, though, all the lights in the corridor went out, and he was plunged into absolute darkness.

Before he'd even begun the spell to create his hidden mage-light he was nearly blinded when the lights flared back into life, far brighter than before. He had to stop and blink spots from his eyes, but when he was able to see properly again he was met by a very strange sight.

The corridor that had previously been empty no longer was. Now it was occupied by a man dressed all in black. He was wearing a face-mask with short pointed ears, and much of his body was concealed beneath a long flowing cape which fanned out across the floor behind him like a shadow. On his chest, partially hidden behind the cape, was a stylised bat symbol.

It was the Batman.


	10. Chapter 10

Instinctively, Harry froze. For a moment, his breath hitched in his chest until he belatedly realised that he probably didn't need to worry. Whatever mistake he'd made that had brought the Batman to Arkham, he could neither see nor hear him even if he did move. He may as well have been a ghost.

He inspected the figure before him in more detail. He was tall and extremely muscular. How much of that was the costume he was wearing, and how much of it was the man underneath, Harry could not be sure. That costume looked to be made out of some kind of hard-wearing fibre, though much of it was also covered in solid armour plates. It made him look very dangerous indeed.

He wore a matte-black cowl that covered almost his entire head. Only his mouth and jaw were left unprotected. Flat, white eyes glared out from beneath a demonic scowl. Around his waist he had a belt of little yellow pouches, the only piece of colour on the whole outfit. He wasn't moving, but his stance was tensed. Some of the Arkham inmates had noticed the Batman's sudden arrival, and the corridor was soon clamoring with their catcalls and insults.

The Batman was completely unaffected, and stood like a statue. Those blank eyes set against the mat black of the cowl did funny things to his thoughts, though. It was almost as if the Batman really could see him. At the very least, he knew Harry was there somewhere.

As Harry contemplated whether he should simply apparate away and return to interrogate Poison Ivy later, a small device appeared in the Batman's hand. Harry paused, fascinated to see what plan the Batman had to try and combat magic, of all things. His gaze didn't leave the general direction Harry was in as he pressed a button on the side of it. There was a short delay. What had it done? Then the sprinkler system came on, and he was almost immediately soaked to the skin.

More importantly the invisibility cloak made him invisible, not insubstantial. His outline was revealed in the haze of water.

Shit.

Before that thought had even finished forming, the Batman was in motion. A black-armored fist rocketed towards Harry's head. He tried, but even his quick reactions weren't enough to completely avoid it. It clipped him on the side of the head as he tried to lean out of the way. The force behind it, even just as a glancing blow, was enough to send him sprawling to the floor.

He tried to pull out his wand, but the Batman didn't give him even a fraction of a second to recover. He tried to disentangle himself from the cloak but there was no time. The black apparation picked him up effortlessly with one hand and threw him against the wall. Harry's skull cracked painfully. His vision swam.

No time to think, he threw himself to the side and landed painfully on the ground. Batman's heavy boot missed him by a fraction of an inch, and gouged a significant divot in the solid concrete wall.

That gained him less than a second. He rolled over, and was able to free his wand. Before he could bring it to bear, the Batman was on him again. He understood why there was so much debate on just what the Batman was. There was no way any ordinary human could have strength and reaction times like the Batman did.

A knee buried itself in Harry's chest and the sheer power behind the attack was enough to lift him into the air and back into the wall again. He managed to keep his footing as he landed, but with the wind so effectively knocked out of him, he could barely breathe, let alone cast effectively.

Some things didn't require much thought, though. A banishing charm, aimless and unfocused blasted the Batman back. Harry was at last able to gasp a few deep breaths, refilling his bruised lungs.

The banishing charm wasn't enough to stop the Batman though. He didn't even lose his footing and instead performed a perfect backflip to land, balanced and ready, on the balls of his feet. Harry tore the cloak off and stuffed it hastily in a pocket, all attempts at stealth forgotten. He couldn't afford it continuing to get in the way. As he removed it, he felt a sharp pain in his left arm, which had been the first thing revealed when he began pulling it off.

He glanced at his arm, there was some kind of shuriken protruding from it.

By looking at the wound, he'd given the Batman the opening he needed to close the gap again. He looked back up to see a black-metal clad fist closing the last few inches. He felt it strike the centre of his face, and heard his nose crack as he was thrown once again to the slick floor. Pain bloomed, and blood began streaming from his ruined nose. Darkness started to crowd the edges of his vision.

He'd known pain before, though, and it didn't stop him. Even as he was landing, ropes snaked out from his wand and flew towards his attacker with such speed that they should have been impossible to follow.

Follow them, the Batman did. Somehow, he was able to track the movement of the ropes well enough even to avoid them. In a feat of incredible dexterity, he jumped against the wall, bounced off it to avoid most of the length of rope. A final forward roll saw him once more within striking range of Harry.

Harry saw the Batman's boot swinging towards his head with a sense of unstoppability. A moment later, he was plunged back into darkness.

o-o

"Wake up!"

Harry realised that pretty much everything hurt. His chest throbbed, and his breathing was laboured. He could feel blood trickling down his left arm. One eye was swollen nearly closed, and his nose was a flattened mess that was far past the point of being used to breathe through. A deep, harsh voice was shouting in his ear, and making the dull ache that suffused the part of his head that had avoided a beating pick up in intensity.

"I said, wake up!"

He felt a hand slap his face with some significant force. He opened his eyes, and they immediately found a yawning black abyss below him.

He was tied up, strung up, and hanging upside-down from a building. Standing right on the very edge of the building's decorative crenellations, no more than a couple of feet away, was the Batman. He was not hard to identify. Though the rooftop was dark, the cloud-choked sky was bathed in the orange glow of reflected street lights, and his dark silhouette stood out starkly. Those flat, white eyes, which he noticed were glowing faintly in the darkness, watched Harry with clinical detachment.

With Harry awake, the Batman wasted no time. "Why did you break into Arkham?"

The moments of waking panic had faded quickly, so Harry ignored the question, and instead focused on regathering his thoughts. He was interrupted when he felt the Batman release the rope, and he went plunging into the darkness of the alley below.

A few feet from the ground, the rope suddenly snapped taut again. Harry couldn't stop his grunt of pain. The sudden stop left his knees and hip feeling like they'd been dislocated. He was slowly hauled back up to rooftop height, and he was soon eye-to-eye, once more, with the Batman's scowling visage.

"Talk!" the Batman demanded. "Why did you break into Arkham?"

"Fucking hell," said Harry, after spitting out a gob of blood. "Not much of a one for small-talk, are you?"

It wasn't the smartest response, but Harry was pretty pissed, and his mouth sometimes got the better of him when that happened. He didn't have time to reflect on that, though. No sooner had he said his piece than he was dropping once more towards the ground.

This time, his fall was arrested barely a foot from the ground, and the pain in his knees was worse this time. He gasped, but grit his teeth. He had a few seconds to work before the Batman would be able to haul him back up. His hands were tied, and his wand was gone, but that did not make him helpless.

Using a single finger, he was able to trace a complex pattern, and before the Batman had even hauled him up ten feet, the ropes binding him snaked loose. He dropped a bit more than ten feet to the floor. He was able to twist as he fell, and was able to avoid landing on his head, but it still hurt enough that he let out another grunt of pain.

He didn't have time to spare to feel sorry for himself, though. The Batman would have already noticed his escape. He apparated back up to the roof, as far away from the Batman's last known location as possible.

Perhaps he simply should have apparated away, but Harry was an auror, and there was something within him that rebelled at the thought of running. The moment he appeared, the crack of his poorly controlled apparation alerted his captor. He'd barely even found his bearings in the dark, when he saw the Batman draw and throw one of his shurikens. Thanks to the distance, and the adrenaline pumping through him, Harry watched it approach almost like it was moving in slow motion.

This time he had just enough time to dodge. Though his motions were sloppy due to his injuries, he stepped out of the path of the projectile. He didn't waste any time, the Batman wouldn't allow it. Even as he moved, he snapped his fingers. Dozens of ropes materialised around the dark figure.

In another inhuman display of acrobatics, he was somehow able to avoid them. Every measured dodge and weave brought him closer and closer to Harry. The Batman didn't have surprise on his side any more though. Harry knew what to expect, even if he was missing his wand and his body was screaming at him to rest.

So he apparated again before Batman was able to get close. This time the sound of his appearance was enough to rattle windows, but that was the least of his worries. Instead, all of his focus was on his wand, still tucked into the Batman's belt, and the spell he was about to cast. " _Lumos Maxima_!" he cried, giving it everything he had.

The Batman was lit up like a supernova as the wand tucked into his belt flared brightly. For the first time, Harry heard something from him that sounded vaguely human; a grunt of surprise. That was Harry's opening. Once again, he focused on his wand and drew on that deep well of willpower that had saved him more times than he could count. He'd performed the wand-light spell like that before, on a dark night in Little Whinging, but his next would be a first. He sincerely hoped it worked.

" _Petrificus Totalis_!"

The Batman stopped completely.

Silence descended on the Arkham rooftop, broken only by the shaky sound of Harry's own breathing. Slowly, laboriously, the sounds of the city returned. In the distance a dog was barking, probably spooked by Harry's loud apparation. Adrenalin slowly ebbed away, and it demanded its payment.

Harry allowed himself to collapse into a heap upon the ground.

"Fuck me, that hurt." He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to the motionless Batman a short distance away.

It took a couple of minutes for Harry to feel up to the task of moving again. He groaned his way back to his feet, and slowly hobbled across to where the Batman remained frozen. He looked like some kind of bizarre modern-art installation, with the searingly bright light of Harry's wand still illuminating him in stark relief and casting a huge shapeless shadow upon the clouds overhead.

Harry plucked the wand from the Batman's belt, and the light faded to nothing. The rooftop was reclaimed by the darkness.

" _Episkey_ ," he said. As the healing magic washed over him, soothing bruises and healing cuts, he felt himself relax, and sigh in relief. There was a crack, and small jolt of pain when his nose resumed its normal shape and position, but all-in-all he felt much better. His ribs still ached, though.

"This was all so unnecessary," said Harry with a tired shake of his head. "You could have just asked nicely, you know?"

He got no response from the frozen Batman, but he hadn't been expecting one. Now that he was closer, he could see that the eerie white eyes were actually lenses embedded within the cowl. The chin and mouth visible beneath the cowl looked distinctly human.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached up to pull off the cowl. As soon as his hand touched the firm, yet still flexible material he was blown off his feet. A jolt of electricity, strong enough to give an elephant pause, threw him across the rooftop in a mess of flailing limbs.

"Ow," he said after he'd rolled to a halt. It was a good job wizards tended to be difficult to kill.

After recovering once more, a process that took much less time this time around, Harry stood back up and made his way back to where the Batman still stood. Lesson learned, he drew his wand and unmasked the mysterious Batman from a safe distance.

The man revealed looked decidedly ordinary. Young and handsome, with dark hair and bright, angry blue eyes. He looked familiar, but after the beating Harry had received, it seemed his brain was working rather more sluggishly than usual. Some things a simple mending spell couldn't fix, and mild concussions were definitely on that list.

Wait. Harry blinked and forced his eyes to really focus on the man before him. He was Bruce Wayne, the billionaire owner of Wayne Enterprises and a man the whole world believed to be an inveterate womaniser.

"Uh, wow," said Harry dumbly. "Now that, I did not expect."

Harry conjured a squishy chair and collapsed into it as he stared at Bruce Wayne's revealed face. Was this revelation something he could use in his search for Neville? Surely Wayne had more resources than Harry could ever hope to gain, and his knowledge of Gotham's underworld was likely unmatched.

"Okay," he said eventually. "I think we got off on the wrong foot." He shifted a little and grimaced. Good or bad, that foot felt like it had cracked a couple of ribs.

"Now, I'm not here for any nefarious purposes, I was just looking for information," said Harry, making a great effort to sound reasonable. He decided to see what he could get out of the man. It couldn't hurt, he was going to have to obliviate him anyway. "Look, I'm going to release the spell from your head so that we can talk properly."

The moment the spell was released, Wayne's head snapped to the side, as if he'd been trying to break the spell through sheer strength and force of will. As he was a muggle that effort was, while impressive, sadly hopeless. His sharp blue eyes fixed on Harry. "Why are you in Gotham?"

"You really don't do small-talk, do you?" Harry said, impressed that the man seemed so unaffected by being unmasked and encountering an honest-to-goodness wizard for the first time. "Look, I'm in Gotham looking for a friend. Nothing more."

"Longbottom."

It took Harry a moment to realise what Wayne had said. "Uh, yes. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You do own the company he broke into."

"You should leave Gotham," said Wayne, the seeming non-sequitur catching Harry off-guard.

That sounded like a very familiar refrain indeed. Was Wayne somehow associated with the False Facers?

He'd have to consider that later, as the man was still talking. "I'll deal with Longbottom, Gotham is my city."

"Gotham might be your city, but Neville is my friend," said Harry after taking a second to catch up. "He's my responsibility."

The masks, the fact that the False Facers were sweeping in to take over the areas the Batman had supposedly 'cleaned up'. Could it really be a coincidence? Hell, Sionis probably even ran in the same circles as Wayne, they probably even knew each-other. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help it as his mind hurtled down dark pathways.

"You won't like what you find if you stay," said Wayne. There was no note of threat in his tone. It was simply matter-of-fact.

"I don't much like what I've already found," said Harry, allowing himself a sardonic smile. "But I never let that stop me. Now, will you tell me where he is or not?"

Wayne didn't answer this time, instead electing to merely glare at Harry with impressive ferocity.

"If it makes you feel any better, I have no intention of revealing your identity," Harry offered. He really didn't care what Wayne did with his spare time. In theory, as a law enforcement professional, he should probably disagree with what the man was doing. Especially if he was driving out the gangs to put his own people in place instead. But it was just that; a theory. That theory did not account for the reality of Gotham. Zatanna seemed sure that Batman was at least not all bad, and he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, even if he knew he'd be keeping an eye on the man before him.

And, of course, Sionis hadn't given any impression that he was following anyone else's orders. None of it added up.

"Need to draw him out," said Wayne after a moment. "He never stays in the same place for more than a few hours. Black Mask Nightclub, Robinson Parks, Amusement Mile, Coventry, and that's just the last four days."

"You make him sound like a criminal," said Harry. "He's just running from those False Facer people." He resisted the urge to say 'your False Facers' as he was sure Wayne was a good enough actor that he'd get nothing useful. Even then, though, that didn't really explain why Neville hadn't contacted anyone back home for help. Or left the city, a single apparation and everything that had happened could have been left behind.

Wayne quickly cut through his thoughts and jumped right to his inevitable conclusion. "He is," he said simply. "He took over the False Face Society. He's their leader now, the new Black Mask."

"That's not possible," said Harry, and even he could hear that it was instinctive denial, not born of confidence. "Neville is one of the best men I know."

"He had a bad day." There was no humour in Wayne's voice as he spoke. The Batman did not joke. "Sometimes that's all it takes."

"Neville has had more than his share of bad days," said Harry, still not ready to accept Wayne at his word. There had to be something else going on. "He wouldn't do that. He's seen first hand what happens to victims of hatred and violence."

"You think Gotham's thugs and criminals all had happy upbringings?" said Wayne. "They've seen it too. Didn't stop them. They learned one lesson. Better be the one at the top."

Harry stood up, ignoring his protesting ribs and throbbing head. He glared into Wayne's pale blue eyes from mere inches away. "Look, I'm not buying it. Neville would never."

"Are we done here?" said Wayne, clearly realising that Harry wasn't about to buy into his… paranoia? Misdirection?. Wayne returned Harry's glare without so much as a twitch.

He was going to regret it later, he knew, but he couldn't let his suspicions lie. For the second time that night he spoke perhaps his most hated spell. " _Legilimens!_ "

Wayne's mind was as different from Sionis' as it was possible to be. Sionis' mind had been a mess: thoughts, dreams, and memories all tangled up together each bleeding into the other. Not so for the Batman. The moment their thoughts connected, Harry felt himself surrounded by dark shadows. It was not at all like occlumency which, if done right, offered the attacker exactly that which they were looking for, only modified just enough to conceal that which the occlumens wanted to hide. The Batman's mind, for it was certainly more like the mind of the Batman than any man so seemingly ordinary as Wayne, was a trap for the unprepared.

Terror clawed at Harry's psyche as he witnessed memories of demonic bat-like beings that could not possibly have been real. They crowded around him, reaching long arms, tipped with wicked black talons, towards him. Then they were gone, replaced by the rotting corpses of a thousand men, women and children. In front of the rest were an older couple whom Harry did not recognise, but they were dressed richly, and the woman had a long string of pearls around her neck. Each and every one of the people in the crowd stood in accusation, their eyes, weeping blood, pronouncing guilt more strongly than words ever could.

Then, the woman's mouth opened wider than should ever be possible, and from it flooded bat-shaped shadows which immediately leapt towards Harry.

He wasn't sure what made him do it, but within the deathly silence of his own mind he shouted, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

No patronus materialised, but the memories Harry saw changed suddenly. The shadows evaporated; the monsters retreated. A young child, whom Harry had not noticed, stood up from where he had been curled in a foetal ball. "Mom?" the child said, tears welling in his eyes. "Dad?"

Harry looked back up, and the army of the dead was gone, with only the front couple remaining, but they looked very different. Gone was the deathly pallor, the encrusted blood, and the pale eyes. Instead, they stood before the boy smiling and happy.

"We are so proud of you, Bruce," she said with obvious fondness.

The boy was weeping openly, but he was able to speak between his sniffing. "I try, Mom. I try to help but it's not enough. I feel like I'm falling."

The man set a gentle hand upon the boy's shoulder. "Remember, Bruce. Why do we fall?"

The boy didn't say a thing, but he turned to Harry, and his blue eyes there was the steely resolve he'd seen in the elder Wayne. Quite suddenly, Harry felt like he'd been punched in the head and when he blinked, he was back on the rooftop, eyes locked with those of Bruce Wayne.

Beside them, Prongs stood proudly, one hoof pawing the ground. When Harry came to himself again, the brilliant creature nuzzled at him. It was a strange sensation, with all of the warmth, and none of the touch. Then, task complete, it evaporated into a million motes of fading stardust.

"What did you do?" Wayne growled, and his tone was so deep and menacing that it spoke to something deep within Harry's bones. He took a step back.

Harry cast a wary eye over the still petrified man. He wasn't sure exactly what he had seen, but for some reason he found himself doubting his earlier suspicions. There was something in those memories, or were they some kind of dream? There had been shame and guilt, alongside the terror and fear. Bruce Wayne blamed himself for whatever had happened to his parents, that much was clear.

It was hard to see such a man as an unrepentant gangster and murderer.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, and he rolled his wand between his fingers. "I guess it's time for you to forget about all this."

"What?" said Wayne, suddenly sounding worried. His breathing became shallow and erratic.

"I don't need you chasing after my friend like he's a common criminal," said Harry. After a bit more thought he added, "And to be honest, I'm still holding a bit of a grudge for the way you spread my nose across my face."

Wayne didn't respond, but his rapid breathing continued. It was strange, though. Despite the seeming panic in his breathing, his gaze stayed stoic and unblinking.

" _Stupefy_ ," said Harry, and for a moment the rooftop was illuminated in shades of dark red, and Wayne's head slumped. He then followed it up, " _Obliviate_."

He removed any memories concerning either Neville or himself. He was sure that the man, who seemed to be far more intelligent than anyone gave him credit for, would work it out again given time, but it would give Harry a few more days. He just had to locate Neville, and get him home before the Batman was once again prowling Gotham, on the hunt for him.

Harry pondered what to do next. There were any number of options. He could leave him on the rooftop, though that would probably clue the man in that something had happened when he was unable to remember how he'd got there. He could move him somewhere else and leave him, which would slow him down some more, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn't be found by one of Gotham's less savory residents before he awoke.

There was no doubt that Harry disliked the man, but he wasn't going to sign his death warrant. No, he would have to make sure the man was safe, and hidden. The easiest way to do that was to simply drop him off at his home.

The only problem with that plan was that Harry had no idea where Wayne lived. A thought occurred to him and he checked his pockets until he found the map he'd picked up soon after his arrival in the city. Next he pulled out his communication mirror.

"Zee."

There was a short delay before his reflection melted away to reveal her face. He could see stacks of books behind her, and there were visible clouds of dust floating in the air around her. Her hair was mussed, and one of her cheeks was creased. "Did I wake you?" he asked, grateful to take his mind off the darker thoughts his evening investigation had yielded.

The tired and unamused gaze he got in response was answer enough. "What happened?"

"Just a quick question," he said. He held up the map. "Wayne Manor. Where is it?"

That drew a frown, and the mirror turned away from her face for a moment. When she returned she looked a little less like she'd just rolled out of a bed made of books. "It's to the north of the city, see that area west of the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge? That's it. Why? Is he in danger?"

Harry glanced at the man in question, both frozen and unconscious before they returned to Zatanna. "No, no danger. I just need to check up on something. Thanks. You got anything?"

She shook her head tiredly. "Not really. There's some stuff on what the Books actually are, but there's nothing to suggest he actually knew the location of one."

"Well, I'll be done here in maybe half an hour," Harry said. That was probably enough time. "I can come over and we can go over what we found together. I need to run some stuff by you too."

"Well, you can try that," she said before yawning loudly. "But I won't be much help as I'm going to go to bed. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Your place. Night Harry."

"Ni—" She'd already broken the connection.

Harry tutted out of a kind of Hermione-ingrained habit. That was a bit rude. He checked his watch. 4:23am.

Maybe not so rude then.

With a careful motion of his wand, he transfigured Bruce Wayne into a real tiny bat of the kind Uncle Vernon had once found in the attic. The bat was deposited into a pocket, and a few seconds later, the dark outline of a Merlin was winging its way across the city.


	11. Chapter 11

"You could have told me about Bruce Wayne," Harry said by way of greeting when Zatanna turned up late the next morning, looking well enough rested that he felt a twinge of envy.

It was an unusually bright morning for the frequently storm-wracked city, and warm sunlight streamed in through the French doors. While he'd been awaiting her arrival, Harry had made himself comfortable in the living area of his suite. He was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the table which was strewn with the remains of his breakfast.

She made a show of looking puzzled as she sat down opposite him. She plucked some left-over cold toast and started helping herself. "Tell you what about Bruce Wayne?"

That act wasn't going to be fooling anyone. "That the oh-so-mysterious Batman is, in actual fact, Bruce Wayne," he said levelly.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" She tried to make it sound like it was a ridiculous idea. Harry definitely wasn't sold. It had taken him a while, but he'd eventually joined the dots. Zatanna had known that Batman was just a man, and she'd respected him, even if she'd been unsure that his approach was the best one. She even knew Bruce Wayne well enough to refer to him off-hand using his first name only.

There had been other clues too, like the tone of voice she'd used when talking about him: almost fond, with a hint of wistfulness. All in all, while he couldn't be certain, he'd been pretty sure she at least had suspicions.

"Well, getting my chest kicked in by him got me thinking," he said.

"Ah." She looked uncertain, as if she wasn't sure how much she could tell him. "And you beat him, I guess? And pulled off that cowl of his?"

Harry rubbed his still aching chest. "Eventually."

She smiled fondly. "If any normal man could give a wizard a fight, it would be him. What happened?"

"He found me sneaking around that bloody Asylum," Harry admitted. "No idea how he knew I was there to begin with, but after he set off the sprinklers he clearly had enough to work with. He gave me a good old-fashioned beating, knocked me out, and dangled me off a building."

"Sounds like you had a fun night," she said, clearly amused by the thought of Harry getting his arse handed to him. "I guess you want me to talk him out of coming after you?"

Harry shook his head. "No need for that. I wiped his memory of both me and Neville. That should give me some time before he's back on our trail."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said Zatanna, looking skeptical. "If he hasn't already worked out exactly what happened, then he's getting slow."

"You think I need to be worried?"

"During the day? No." She paused for a second before grinning. "Maybe watch your back at night though."

Harry's shoulders slumped, perhaps he should have just tried leveling with the man. "You could have told me about him."

"You already knew about Batman," she pointed out. "That he also happens to be Bruce Wayne was irrelevant. It's a bit of a secret, you know? I only know because my father taught him for a while."

"Yeah, well, just how sure are you of the guy?" Despite what he'd seen, he couldn't shake the suspicion some of his words had aroused.

"Bruce, or Batman?" said Zatanna.

"There's a difference?"

"Well, yeah," she said as if it should have been obvious. "The Bruce I knew was a good man. Uncompromising, driven like you wouldn't believe, and, frankly, scary smart. Batman? I'm not sure I want to know him. If what I hear is true, he's more like the bad-guys worst nightmares made real."

The bad-guys' nightmares, or Bruce's? Harry wasn't so sure. "Well, I think we can add 'paranoid arsehole' to that list of yours. He tried to convince me that Neville has taken over the False Facers."

That caused her expression to sober. Harry could see her mulling the idea over, but instead of voicing her own suspicions right away, she instead changed the subject. "What about Roman Sionis? What did he have to say?"

"Now there's a man that's gone off the deep end," said Harry. It was almost easy to forget the original purpose of his visit to Arkham Asylum.

It took a while for Harry to explain everything he'd been able to get from Sionis. It proved especially difficult to put into words what he'd seen and felt when he'd risked delving into the man's mind.

As he did, though, he felt the cold grip of fear start to worm its way into his chest. When he finished, Zatanna voiced exactly that which caused his fear. "I hate to say it, but Bruce's theory does add up."

It did. It was the only theory that explained why they'd started coming after Harry, and he found himself disliking it all the more for it. The only thing that didn't make sense was why Neville would do it. What was he hoping to achieve by taking over a Gotham City gang? He was a teacher, not fucking Al Capone!

"I just don't understand," said Harry as he ran a hand through his hair unhappily. "Neville's always been a good guy. Always had my back. Always wanted to help people. I just can't see him doing any of this."

"Look, we'll keep searching for him," said Zatanna. Harry knew when he was being humored, but he found he didn't really mind. "Maybe we're wrong."

He could only hope. "So," he said. Perhaps changing the subject would help. "What about your search?"

"I didn't find much," she said sadly. "My father did a lot of research into the books before he disappeared that first time, but he never said anything about a location.

"After he returned, he almost never mentioned them again except once." She looked a little uneasy. "It wasn't long after he came back."

"What did he say?"

"It was strange. Like a poem or something? It was really short. Wait a second, I wrote it down," She rummaged in one of her pockets until she came up with a little slip of paper covered in narrowly spaced notes. "'The Books of Magic, bait in a trap for rats, the searcher will know'. And there was a weird symbol next to it."

"Did Giovanni often write things like that?" Harry asked. It didn't seem an especially good poem, if indeed that was the intention, so he was leaning towards 'no'.

"Not really," said Zatanna, confirming his suspicion. "I mean, he sometimes did things like that for his shows, to look mysterious for the crowd, that kind of thing. Nothing real though."

"Then maybe it's not real?" he said slowly. "What about the symbol? Can you draw it for me?"

"Yeah, I can do that," she said before conjuring an elaborate pen with another of her strange incantations. She jotted down a symbol, which looked like a tear-drop with a halo around the top of it.

"Wait, I've seen that before," said Harry distantly. He slapped the side of his head in an effort to shake something loose. Miraculously, it worked. "I saw that symbol in one of Sionis' memories!"

"Him?" said Zatanna in surprise. "What does he have to do with all this?"

"I have no idea." But if magic was involved in whatever happened to Sionis, maybe there was something more to Neville's situation than met the eye.

She threw up her hands. "None of this makes any sense!"

Harry's response was cut short when he sensed his alert spell on the door trip. A moment later, whoever it was knocked tentatively. Harry glanced at Zatanna and palmed his wand, while she moved to a position closer to the door. Quietly, Harry moved up to the door and looked through the peephole. Outside, there was a nervous-looking young man in a MACUSA Auror long-coat.

"Who is it?" Harry called through the door.

"I'm, um, Trainee Auror MacGruder," said the young man. "I'm looking for Mr. Potter?"

A look was exchanged between Harry and Zatanna, before they both reached the same conclusion. Bad guys usually didn't knock on doors. Still, Harry kept his wand ready as he opened the door. It never hurt to be too careful.

MacGruder's eyes widened comically at the sight of the two of them and Harry wasn't sure if it was him or Zatanna that was causing it. The lad looked barely old enough to be out of Ilvermorny.

"That's me," said Harry. He noted that MacGruder didn't have his wand in his hands, and decided that it was safe to put his away too. He reached out to shake the kid's hand. "Why are you looking for me?"

"Um, I have a message?"

Harry found himself slipping into the persona he used when he needed to whip his own nervous or overconfident trainees into shape. "I don't know, do you?"

"Um—"

"Look, MacGruder, was it?" Harry interrupted. If he let it continue like it had begun, they'd be at it all morning. A rapid bobbing of the kid's head told him he'd got the name right. "Stop worrying. I'm not going to eat you, and Zatanna here is extremely unlikely to ravish you"— He ignored her heated glare —"so there's really nothing to worry about. You made it this far. You're in Gotham, and even your bosses are scared of this place. You'll be fine. So, stop hesitating. An Auror is always the most dangerous person in the room. Remember that."

The impromptu pep-talk had the desired effect, the kid stood a little straighter, and was finally able to look Harry in the eye.

"Thank you, sir," he said, looking a little gratified, though Harry suspected he was still unconvinced. "And, um, yes. I have a message for you from the Director."

"Joy," said Harry flatly. For a moment he wondered why an Auror, even if he was just a trainee, was being sent to do an owl's job, but maybe he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. "I guess in that case you should come on in."

They moved back over to the table where he and Zatanna had been sitting before being interrupted.

"So, what's Carruthers got a bee in his bonnet about now?"

"Well, there was an event recorded by the Exposeometer yesterday morning," said MacGruder uncomfortably. He fidgeted a bit before continuing, "The Director was wondering what the nature of that event was, and if there was a chance of any similar events occurring."

Harry couldn't help chuckle that escaped him as he heard MacGruder's incredibly diplomatic reinterpretation of the real message. He noticed Zatanna's puzzled glance, and so he decided to explain. "What he means to say is that Carruthers called me a gung-ho moron, hell bent on revealing our society to the muggle world, and that I should fuck off back to Britain before I do something else similarly stupid. That about cover it?"

That got him a somewhat shaky smile from MacGruder. "Almost word for word, sir."

"Fair enough," said Harry. He wasn't going to shoot the messenger, especially one that had so obviously not merely drawn the short straw, but had it forcibly inserted. "We, alongside a muggle witness to an earlier crime, were attacked yesterday morning by a group of muggle thugs intent on causing bodily harm or death to both ourselves and our muggle witness. Pursuant to the International Statute of Secrecy, amendment 3, subsection 2, iii, b, we used all means at our disposal to protect both ourselves, and our investigation into a previous crime. Further, as additionally specified in the Statute of Secrecy, amendment 7, subsection 12, iiv, a, I later personally conducted the obliviations of all muggle witnesses to the actions of that morning, and repaired all damage caused in the exchange.

"Let it further be recorded, that Carruthers can either pull his wand out of that gaping arsehole of his and help, or he can accept that Gotham is outside his purview, and my actions need not be answerable to him.

"How'd that sound? Think you can wrap it up in some nice diplo-speak and deliver it to Carruthers for me?"

MacGruder had gone deathly pale, and simply stared at Harry in horror. Harry waved a hand in front of his face, and the kid gave a start. "I can't say that!"

"Well, no," Harry admitted. He doubted Winston Carruthers shared in his restraint with regards to the shooting of messengers. "But you get the general idea, and it made me feel so much better to get that off my chest."

Harry decided to throw the poor kid a bone. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, we're also here investigating something for your President Quahog, so I'd recommend seeing him first if you can. Maybe he can get Carruthers off your back."

"Wait," said MacGruder, after glancing between Harry and Zatanna. "Is that to do with the reappearance of the Great Zatara?"

That was a strange way for a wizard to refer to him.

"MacGruder, are you from Gotham?" Zatanna asked, apparently thinking along the same lines as Harry.

His head bobbed up and down eagerly. "Mum's a no-maj. Never knew my father, but I grew up right here in Gotham, over in Otisburg. Went to see Mr. Zatara's show on Amusement Mile once when I was a kid," he said. The halting nervousness was gone for a moment, replaced by honest enthusiasm. "I wanted to be a magician from that day on. You can't imagine what it was like getting my letter from Ilvermorny."

"I can probably guess," said Harry. He couldn't help but share in the kid's enthusiasm for a moment. Then he remembered what Batman had said. "Wait, Amusement Mile?"

"Yeah, it's this old theme-park north of Gotham Village," said MacGruder. "All abandoned now though. Well, mostly, anyway."

Harry remembered seeing it on one of his flights over the city. It had looked like something from a horror movie. Rusted roller-coasters lay across the mile like the skeletal carcasses of gigantic beasts, thrown ashore by the troubled sea. Around them, clowns with slowly peeling faces grinned at their demise and a ghost-town of carnival stalls slowly rotted to nothing.

He turned to Zatanna as an idea occurred to him. "What if there really is a connection between it all?"

"What, you think Neville saw one of my father's shows?" said Zatanna, not following his logic.

"No, no. Not Neville," said Harry rapidly. "Sionis. It was Sionis that had seen that symbol before. What if he saw one of your father's shows?"

He saw Zatanna's eyes widen as she realised where he was going.

"Symbol, what symbol?" said MacGruder, likely feeling rather lost. "Can you show me? Maybe I'll recognise it."

The kid looked so excited at the thought of being able to help that Harry hadn't the heart to say no. It wouldn't hurt, anyway. He picked up Zatanna's notes from where she'd left them on the table and handed them across as he pointed at the tear-drop symbol.

The look of disappointment was all the answer Harry needed. "Hey, neither of us recognised it either," he said by way of consolation. "Don't worry about it."

"I thought I might be able to help," MacGruder said, setting the notes back on the table. "Sorry I couldn't. I've never seen it before."

"You have helped," said Harry. He wasn't lying. There was every chance they would have made the connection eventually, but there was also the possibility that they would have missed it without his help. "We might not have found the connection if not for you. It just means we'll have to investigate some more." He looked at Zatanna. "Are you up for having a nose around your Dad's old haunt on Amusement Mile?"

"I'd rather not," Zatanna admitted with a grimace. "That place gives me the creeps, but I guess it's our best lead."

MacGruder looked torn. It wasn't hard to deduce just what was causing him pause.

"You should head back," said Harry. "No sense in getting in trouble with Carruthers. I get the feeling he's not the most patient of men. He's your problem, and this is ours."

His shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment. Harry well knew the draw of adventure when you were a young trainee Auror. They always got the worst and most boring jobs.

"Keep your head down," he said, in an attempt to soften the blow. "Everyone has to get through the first two years. Once you're through it, though, you'll be out on real investigations in no time. No point risking that just so you can wander around some creepy old ruined fairground."

"I guess," said MacGruder reluctantly. "So I suppose I should get going then?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Remember to check in with Quahog first though. He should keep Carruthers off your back. If we find anything actionable, I'll send him a message."

MacGruder stepped forward and extended his hand. Harry shook it firmly.

"Thanks, Mr. Potter."

"Don't worry about it," said Harry.

With a final farewell to both Harry and Zatanna, the young Auror disapparated with a pop.

Harry turned to Zatanna. "So, next stop Amusement Mile?"

"First, I'll finish my breakfast," she responded. "And I'll be handling transportation, thank you."

o-o

When Harry had flown over Amusement Mile, it had been at night, and that had added something indefinable to its macabre intrigue. In the full light of day the shadowy monoliths, looming in darkness were gone, replaced by rotting towers and rusting roller-coasters. As he looked at a three-storey clown head covered in mould, algae and moss, grinning maniacally at him, he decided that it wasn't an improvement.

"Who decided this place was a good idea?" he asked, looking around at the sprawling, almost post-apocalyptic, carnival.

"Don't ask me," said Zatanna. "I hated it even before the big flood when it was pretty much abandoned."

"Well, lets see what there is to find," he said, eager to complete the task at hand. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could leave. "Where did your father perform?"

Zatanna pointed towards a large building that, due to its steel-and-concrete construction, was faring much better than many of the other buildings. "The Olympus Lounge, it was his first full-time job doing stage magic."

They made their way across the wide promenade, avoiding the occasional piles of stinking rubbish. As they neared the Lounge itself, Harry realised that his initial impressions had been a little charitable. While the structure of the building still looked sturdy and safe, everything else was a ruin. The windows were all smashed and the wind and rain had had their wicked way with everything inside.

As they pushed open the doors, which creaked and groaned as they wobbled precariously on their rusted hinges, they were hit by the smells of damp, must, and human waste.

It was obvious that the homeless of Gotham used the ruined Lounge for shelter. Judging by the numbers of rotten, stained mattresses scattered around the floor of the main room, at least a hundred squatters had taken up residence. Whatever the reason, though, there was no sign of them. The building was deathly silent.

That in itself was suspicious enough to be worrying.

" _Homenum revelio_ ," said Harry quietly. The only way the building could be empty was if the people there had been given a very good reason to stop being there.

He saw Zatanna illuminated by the spell's ghostly light, and, as he looked around carefully, he saw the outline of another person. It was always hard to tell, but it looked like they were in a basement.

He waved silently at Zatanna to get her attention, and motioned for her to be quiet. He pointed in the direction of the unknown person, and held up a single finger. He mouthed the words, 'There's someone here.'

Immediately understanding his meaning, Zatanna pointed over to the far corner of the room where Harry was able to spy a staircase behind a decaying curtain. Unnecessarily, she then acted out someone walking down some stairs with her fingers.

Harry applied silencing charms to both himself and Zatanna, and they made their way to the once-concealed stairway. They stepped carefully over the various broken bottles and the occasional syringe as they descended. Their movements might be silenced, but kicking a glass bottle down a stairwell would still make noise.

The scent of rotting wood and fabric grew stronger until they reached the bottom. The basement was dark, lit only by what meagre light had made it all the way down the stairs. The space, filled with that hungry, sucking cold often found in such places, was crowded with dark, misshapen shadows which loomed in the darkness. With a flick of his wand, Harry cast the concealed lantern spell, illuminating the space at last.

Silk painted mountains, godly figures, dragons, elephants and more had all been left in the damp basement to slowly molder and crumble. He tapped Zatanna on the head, causing her to flinch at the unexpected touch. A moment later, her mouth split open in a silenced gasp as she beheld the decaying glories of years past.

The illuminated outline of their quarry was still visible, and was now on the same level as them. From the look of it, they were towards the middle of the room, concealed from sight by all the abandoned props. Harry pointed to where he could see the figure, apparently crouched down and reaching into something below floor level.

They had to move more quickly, it looked like the man had found something. Either it was exactly what he and Zatanna were after, or it was irrelevant. If it was irrelevant, then tipping the person off wouldn't be a problem.

They turned a corner, past a huge model of a Sphinx, and they saw him. Harry caught the briefest glimpse of a thin, haggard man in a long tan-coloured coat before they were noticed, and with a snap of the fingers, the man canceled Harry's mage-light spell, returning them to darkness.

"John?" Zatanna blurted in obvious shock. Evidently that snap of the fingers had done more than merely dispel Harry's mage-light. Their silencing charms were gone too.

Harry hadn't been able to get a good look at the man, but that coat had certainly looked a lot like Constantine's. His build was similar too. The last thing he needed was for John bull-in-a-fucking-china-shop Constantine to get embroiled too. His only consolation was that anyone could wear a coat, and that Constantine was probably still back in the UK. Nevertheless he didn't waste any time.

He brandished his wand into the darkness, and all around them there came the quiet whispering sounds of a hundred prop animals coming to life. He sent them towards where the man had been, and he heard a surprised grunt as one of them managed to connect.

There was a blast of fire, and for a moment the room was bathed in a scorching light. All the animals were burned away in an instant, the aging silk proving no match for the magical fire.

Zatanna acted quickly " _Noitcetorp morf erif!_ " she said, and a shield sprung up to protect them both from the wave of flame.

As they died away, the shape of the unknown man was visible for a second in the middle of the room, a dark shadow lit by arcs of crackling power.

Wasting no time, Harry plunged his wand towards the ground. The floor was bare concrete and by rights the seemingly fragile stick of wood should have shattered with the force he used, but it did not. Instead it dug deep into the floor, as if it was a nail being driven effortlessly into sand. There was a momentary pause, until the ground below the figure exploded upwards with a deafening blast.

The man cried out in pain and surprise as he was thrown through the charred ruins of what had once been a whimsical castle. Harry and Zatanna both ran towards the hole even as it collapsed on top of the man, but by the time they reached it, it was too late.

All they found was a circle of fading teleportation glyphs, lit by the flickering baleful light of the remaining unextinguished fires.

Harry turned to Zatanna. "Can you track him?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't see enough of the glyphs," she said, and she sounded pissed. "All I can say is that he didn't go far. Definitely not back to Britain, anyway. Did he leave anything behind? I think you got a good hit in on him."

They both retraced their steps until they found an open safe which had been hidden in the floor, at least until their mysterious figure had turned up. Harry swore when he noticed that it had already been cleared out.

"No, look," said Zatanna, pointing at the dust-covered bottom of the safe. "I think it was empty already." She crouched down to look closer before snapping her fingers and saying, " _Thgil_."

A light, similar to the one Harry had created earlier popped into existence in her hand. She threw it into the air, where it hung like a miniature sun, starkly illuminating the devastation that had been wrought during their brief battle.

"There's something here," she said, feeling the bottom of the safe with her fingertips. She leaned down to get a closer look. "There's something engraved on the back. _Laever ruoy sterces_."

There was a quiet click, and the back of the safe popped upwards slightly. Zatanna pulled the thin sheet of metal. With it in his hands and able to turn it to catch the light, he was able to see that the engraving was the same tear-drop they'd seen before in Zatara's notes.

He looked back down to see Zatanna pull out a little slip of paper.

"Seek my awakening," said Zatanna, frowning at the scrawled note.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure. I think I saw him talk about his awakening in his notes," she said after a little bit of thought. "But I'll need to take another look. I didn't think it was important at the time."

"Well, at least we got something," said Harry. "And stopped whoever that was from getting it."

"For a moment, I thought it was John," said Zatanna, looking troubled at the thought.

"He's still in the UK though," said Harry confidently. If Constantine had done a runner then he was sure Padma would have told him.

Almost as if she could hear him, Padma's voice issued from the pocket in which he kept his communication mirror. "Harry, are you there?"

He pulled the mirror out and found himself looking at Padma. Her expression was serious. "Constantine's disappeared. Gave the Law Enforcement Squad the slip. He could have been gone for hours for all they knew. No clue where he went."

There was a pause. "Fuck," said Harry. He shared a significant glance with Zatanna before his gaze returned to Padma. "I think we might have an idea."


	12. Chapter 12

"What does that idiot think he's doing?" said Harry as he paced back and forth on the balcony of his hotel room. "Oh, I'm John fucking Constantine and I'm the only arsehole on the planet that can be trusted to do the right thing."

"Well, to be fair to John," said Zatanna, looking up from where she was leafing through one of her father's journals. Apparently she felt some inexplicable urge to stand up for her former lover, "He's turned down the chance to gain a lot of power before, just because it might hurt people. Would you trust yourself to do that? I'm not so sure I'd trust myself. If I was given the chance to bring my father back to life? I might be tempted."

"You really don't need to protect him, you know. He's supposed to be a big boy. And don't talk yourself down," said Harry, stopping his pacing. "My old teacher told me that sometimes we must choose between doing what is right and what is easy, but I think he greatly oversimplified it. The first step is even seeing that there _is_ a choice."

Zatanna's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"If you've thought about it, and you know what the right thing to do is, only then can you make the right choice," said Harry, after taking a moment to work out the simplest way of putting it. He continued, "I've seen more than my fair share of bad people in my time. Not as many as you'd think, but still more than I'd like. I've seen a few truly good people too, though they're much rarer than you'd hope. The 'people' people, the ones who just want to get on with their lives, they're easily the most common."

Seeing she didn't understand what he was trying to get at, he continued, "Some people like to paint the world in black and white: right and wrong, good and evil. It's easier, I suppose," he chuckled at his unintentional choice of words. "Sure, there are evil people out there. People who want to hurt others for pleasure, who find a rush in murder, or a thrill in torture. They never even get to the point of choosing between the two options. That there could be more than one choice never even occurred to them. Even if you confront them with the choice, they simply ignore it. The whole question is irrelevant to their world view. For them, it's not about rightness, it's simply about what they want. The good people? They don't make that choice either. For them there is no choice to make either; they see only one path towards the light. Sometimes, they can be just as dangerous as the evil people. They will do what they believe to be right, always, and I pity any man or woman who stands in their way. And they rarely understand that others cannot see the world the same way they do.

"And for the rest of us? For us it's more complicated than merely choosing. We are not good by our nature, so I suppose in a way we do have to choose. Just, not in the way you might think.

"We have to choose to think," he said, gazing out over the city. "Look at this place. Do you really think there are thousands of truly evil people out there? That every mobster, and every thug is evil by nature?"

"Well, no, I guess?"

"No, they're just people, going about their lives, not thinking about the consequences to those they cannot see. As soon as you do that, as soon as you are even aware that there is a choice between what is right, and what is easy, you have already made it so much further than the vast majority of people. The easy choice is only easier if you don't think about what the right choice is."

He turned back to her. "You know the price of bringing people back from the dead, and you already know that it is not worth paying. So long as you remember that, you'll make the right decision."

By that point, Zatanna was watching him closely, an unidentified look upon her face. Was it hope, gratitude? He couldn't be sure.

Realising that he'd gone off on something of a tangent, he shrugged and resumed pacing. "What about that message?" he asked, changing the subject.

Zatanna's gaze remained distant for a while, clearly thinking over what he'd said. Eventually, she returned to the here-and-now. "You've thought about it a lot."

"I have," said Harry. It was something he hadn't been able to avoid after what he'd seen.

"Don't you think that's depressing, though, that there are so few good people?"

"Not really," said Harry honestly. "I find hope in it, actually. Doing the right thing isn't simple, and I'm not so sure it should be. I like knowing that all that stands between somewhere like Gotham and a bright future is finding some way to get people to stop and think. There are a few evil people down there and far too few good ones, of that I have no doubt, but if everyone else stopped and really thought about it, it could be stopped. If, tomorrow morning, just one person in Gotham stopped to think, and decided to really try, it would already be a better place."

"You really think that?"

"I know that," said Harry with rock-hard certainty. Neville had been the one to show him the truth of his words. Neville, and everyone else in the DA.

There was a long silence, as Zatanna once again gave Harry an appraising look, only this one was edged with uncertainty. "But that's enough of that," he said, with a self-conscious chuckle. It seemed that concern for his friend was making him wax philosophical. "Have you managed to find anything else?"

The look Zatanna gave him said, in no uncertain terms, that that conversation was not over, but she humoured him. "There's something in here, I know it," she said, as she resumed her reading, and flicked another page over. "It was—" She stopped, her eyes fixed on something on the page. "Ah ha!"

Harry paused, and glanced at her in askance.

"'I remember the day I performed my first piece of stage magic before a crowd,'" she recited, as her eyes traced her father's words. "'Just me, my supplies in an old, beaten-up trunk, entertaining workers leaving the old Wayne headquarters building. I felt like I had more than arrived; I had awoken!' That's what the note meant!"

That did sound like it was exactly what they needed. "Do you still have the trunk?"

"I do!" Then her excitement trickled away. "But I already checked it. Nothing."

"Then it must be the place," said Harry, unwilling to discard a potential lead so quickly. "The HQ building, Wayne Tower?"

"No," said Zatanna. She frowned and stared out in the direction of Wayne tower, though only the very tip of its highest pinnacle was visible behind the closer buildings. "It can't have been. That wasn't built when Dad was younger. It must be their old headquarters."

"Which was where?"

With a chagrined look on her face, Zatanna said, "I can't remember. Somewhere in Old Gotham still, I'd assume, but I can't remember. I was just a girl when they built Wayne Tower."

"Did your father ever take you there, or reminisce about it?" Harry asked. He could tell by the way she was talking that she knew where it had been. They just needed to make the right connections.

"Not that I can remember." Her frustration got the better of her, and she threw the notebook across the table.

"Well, that's fine," said Harry, trying to nip any self-recrimination in the bud. He'd learned long ago that such things seldom helped anyone. "We can always head to the Library to look it up. It won't take that long. I assume they have records of that kind of thing?"

"I guess so, but we wouldn't need to go to—" said Zatanna before stopping. Her eyes widened. "The library!"

Harry didn't follow. "Huh?"

"I remember now. The Martha Wayne Memorial Library, it's in the old Wayne headquarters, along with a start-up maker's space and—" She stopped again, and grabbed up the notebook from where she'd thrown it. "We need to go, now!"

"And what?" said Harry. Despite having no idea what was so important, he trusted her instincts. He stood, ready to move.

"A night-club," said Zatanna seriously. "Called Black Mask."

The club that Batman had mentioned. The club that Neville had supposedly hidden out at, and named for the alter-ego of the man Neville has supposedly replaced. He immediately understood her sudden concern.

"Let's go."

She wasted no time, and in less than five seconds they dematerialised from the hotel room to reappear in a quiet alleyway.

It was only late afternoon, but the tall and overbearing skyline of Gotham often brought a precipitous evening to its many alleyways and side-streets. Harry wouldn't be surprised if there were some unsavoury streets that only saw the light of day for a few minutes around midsummer.

Unlike Apparation, Zatanna's teleportation made no sound upon either departure or arrival. Instead, the only sound in the alley was the distant rumble of city life, lonely echoes, down a forgotten alleyway.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, after taking in his surroundings. As Gotham alleyways went, it wasn't the worst. A bit further along there was a mound of dirty sheets and discarded debris that probably housed one of the cities unnumbered homeless. It looked like they weren't home.

"Behind the Library building," said Zatanna. After a moment to get her bearings she started walking quickly towards one end of the alley, towards the sounds of the bustling city.

They soon stepped out onto a street. Old Gotham earned its name. Most of the buildings in the area were much more low-rise than in other parts of the city, but they were also much more run-down. Had Harry not known better he might have thought that that part of the city really did date to the late middle ages, so authentic was the surviving gothic stonework.

Here and there, though, the street was punctuated by incredibly modern-looking glass monstrosities. Old Gotham, it seemed, was slowly being subsumed by the new. Harry noticed that a great many of the new buildings had some kind of damage, and most of them were either for sale or rent. Perhaps Old Gotham was doomed, but it certainly wasn't going quietly.

Zatanna pointed further along the road, "The club should be just just up there."

"So what will we be walking into here?"

"Honestly?" said Zatanna, with a backwards glance. "Not sure. I've never been. Even before the False Facers started getting headlines, Roman had a bit of a reputation as a nut-job. I'm told it's just a run-of-the-mill high-end club, but that can't be all of it."

"How long has it been active?" If Zatanna had been a girl when the building was vacated, and given Sionis' age, the club couldn't have been around all that long, unless Sionis had purchased it from someone else. "Surely your father wouldn't have hidden such a powerful artifact in a nightclub?"

"You're right," said Zatanna, not breaking in her stride. "For the longest time, this building was pretty much unused. Wayne sold it on to some real-estate firm who then did nothing with it. Probably unable to get planning permission or something. It had been empty for so long that my father probably thought it'd be left that way. Lots of Gotham has been empty for decades.

"Anyway, not long after he died it was sold on again, mostly to a bunch of different charities, but some of it was converted to be Black Mask. Supposedly, it was one of Roman Sionis' pet projects, if you couldn't already tell by the name."

"So, we think Sionis just happened on something your father hid in the building?" It would be a pretty big coincidence. "How did a muggle manage that?"

"Do you have a better idea?" said Zatanna. She thought about it a bit before shrugging. "Maybe his protection spells failed after he died."

Depending on the spells it was possible, if unlikely. He certainly didn't have a better idea. Coincidence it may have been, but it tied the whole story together such that it actually made some kind of sense. They could work out the 'how' later, for the time being it was the 'what' that was important.

"Was it the Book, or just clues to the Book's location?" Harry wondered. They were just about at the entrance to the club.

It was at one end of a very impressive building that, had he seen it in Europe, he would have immediately described as palatial. In it he saw some of the same self-assured permanence that possessed Wayne Tower. Wayne Enterprises certainly built things to last. Even in Gotham, which at its worst could have been described as only a hop, skip and a jump away from being a fully fledged war-zone, it had weathered the storm with only minor damage.

The entrance to the club itself was ostentatious, and entirely out-of-keeping with the rest of the building. The entire facade had been replaced with a huge Black Mask, more than three stories tall, and the front door was almost concealed within the wide mouth.

"I don't know," Zatanna admitted. She stopped, her hand on the boarded up door. "Look, if we do find the Book in here, remember what my father said. It is everything the stories say it is, but it's also a trap. I saw Nick waste away into a shadow of the man I once knew, just at the mere thought of gaining one. Remember what you said to me earlier. Think before you do anything with the power it might give you."

Harry understood what she was saying. It was not, as an American might say, his first rodeo. The power of the Hallows had been enough to inspire ordinary men to terrible deeds, and while their powers had never really been a lie, they had also never been worth the suffering they caused. "I will."

" _Nepo_ ," said Zatanna, and the locked and blocked door swung open without so much as an ominous creak.

For some reason, Harry had expected the interior to be covered in a thin layer of dust, but on reflection that was unreasonable. Sionis had been hauled in only a few days ago. There were dust-sheets over all the tables and chairs, but the room was, otherwise, spotlessly clean.

With his wand resting freely on the palm of his hand, Harry whispered to it, " _Partem Mageia Magna_."

It spun lazily for a few seconds, before it came to rest pointing in the general direction of the stage. He shared a look with Zatanna, and, carefully, they started to pick their way towards the source of ambient magic detected by the spell. It could be a finicky spell to master, as it had a tendency to simply point straight at the witch or wizard who'd cast the spell, but with practice it was possible to have it ignore some things.

As they neared the stage, it became obvious that the thing they were looking for was actually somewhere backstage. They both moved quickly around the base of the stage to reach the stage doors. When he paused as Zatanna opened the door, he saw his wand twitch just ever so slightly, despite the fact that he had not been moving.

"Zee, stop," Harry said in a rapid whisper. "I think I'm tracking a person, not some book. Look, it's moving."

Indeed, as they stood there, the wand moved again. Just slightly, but enough to be noticed. "We can't let them get away this time," said Harry. "Especially if they're really after the books."

Zatanna nodded, and then silently pushed open the doors.

With more urgency, they tried to navigate what turned out to be a maze of corridors. Had they had to search the place themselves it would surely have taken hours, if not days, but the spell led them through every twist and turn of the corridors.

Until it led them into a storage cupboard. A dead end. "F—" Harry began, before Zatanna held up a finger for silence.

"Move there," she mouthed silently, pointing to the other side of the room.

As Harry did so, the wand spun a substantial amount, and Harry realised what Zatanna was checking. The person they were searching for was probably right on the other side of the far wall. Either it was a false wall, or it was simply an abutting room. Either way, they could use magic to make their entry.

Harry cancelled the direction charm and grasped his wand properly. With his free hand he mimed a five second countdown for Zatanna's benefit. Five, four, three, two—

The entire back wall of the cupboard slid aside to reveal John Constantine, unawares and whistling a jaunty tune.

A wordless stunning charm flashed across the room and splashed against the man before he'd even been able to focus on the two figures standing in the cupboard. Harry realised he might have overdone it just slightly when Constantine was blasted backwards into the room and out of sight. At least he wouldn't be getting back up so soon after that.

Zatanna shot him a look which Harry recognised from the many times he'd seen it on Hermione's face.

"Yes, it was completely necessary," he said firmly.

Her mouth opened, then her mouth closed again. With a shake of her head she simply started forward to locate wherever it was that Constantine had been thrown.

The hidden room was definitely not one of Giovanni's design, at least not latterly. There were a few cabinets on one of the walls. Empty, but it was obvious that they'd once held guns. There were still a few empty boxes, which had once held many different types of ammunition, scattered here and there.

Constantine was lying in a pile of limbs and broken furniture on the far side of the room. Harry wordlessly levitated the man into the middle of the room and propped him up in one of the few undamaged chairs.

"You really don't like him, do you?" Zatanna asked, as she searched through some of the cabinets for any clues.

"Constantine?" Harry asked, as he summoned charmed ropes to ensure the man didn't have it too easy when he came around. "Not really, no. You having second thoughts about kicking him to the curb?"

Zatanna laughed. "God, no. But I have good reason to want his balls in a vise. What's your reason?"

He paused a moment, and stared at Constantine's be-stubbled features as he decided how best to answer that particular question. In the end, partial honesty won out. "I guess I just see the worst of me in him," he said. "The thing is, that the worst of me was when I was about sixteen. He needs to grow the fuck up."

Well, I guess that's"—there was a click as something opened—"Harry?" said Zatanna from the other side of the room. "There's a safe here, and I can feel some lingering magic on it. Whatever it was, it was powerful. I think the book might have been here."

Harry looked up to find her stood beside one of the cabinets. Unlike the others she'd looked at, the one she'd found had a kind of false back to it, and revealed behind it was a safe that was seemingly already open. It was completely empty but for one thing.

"There was also this." She held up a worn top hat, not unlike the one she wore when doing her own performances. "It was one of my father's, I thought he'd given this one away to Nick when he went his own way." She tossed it back into the safe.

She started speaking more of her unusual incantations as her hands moved back and forth in front of the mostly empty safe. That left the more unpleasant job to Harry.

He had to frisk John Constantine.

" _Scobo_ ," he said, standing a suitably cautious distance away. The last man who'd tried to search Constantine had ended up being pulled into a horrific dimension populated entirely by eyeball creatures that forced him to relive his most embarrassing day. It had taken nearly a week for the Unspeakables to find a way to reverse the curse. The poor man had been so distressed by his brief banishment that he'd been given two days off to get his head together.

Harry really did not have time for that.

The search, sadly, came up with nothing more than a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes, a ritual dagger, a lighter, and some other miscellaneous items that Harry had absolutely no intention of touching.

With a grunt of frustration, Harry banished them into a corner of the room to be safe, before conjuring a couple more chairs for himself and Zatanna. He made sure they were much more comfortable than the rickety old chair Constantine was tied to. Sometimes one had to enjoy the little things in life.

"Nothing else there," said Zatanna, thoroughly irked. She motioned with her hand, and the chair Harry had conjured for her flew effortlessly through the air to a position out of Constantine's sight. "What?" she said. "If he sees me he'll just hit on me again, and if he does I might just punch him."

Harry raised his hands, all innocence. "I didn't say a thing," he said. He returned his attention to Constantine. " _Rennervate_."

"Bloody hell," said Constantine as he came around. He looked pretty groggy. The stunning charm had been reversed, but he'd still hit a wall. Conscious at the time or not, that hurt. "That was a bit bloody unnecessary, don't you think?"

"I got twitchy," said Harry, deadpan. "Now, what were you doing here?"

For a man who was tied to a chair in a cleared-out gang hideout, once he'd managed to come to his senses, Constantine was remarkably calm. "I could ask you the same question," he said evenly.

Harry scratched at the side of his head and frowned. "Well, you could, but only one of us is tied to a chair. Maybe you should try answering the questions rather than asking them? See if that improves your position a bit."

With a shrug, Constantine did exactly what Harry expected, lie. "I just fancied a trip down memory lane."

Stupid games were something Harry had lost all patience for. "And you just happened to take a detour to the place where Giovanni Zatara hid the Book of Magic he found?"

"Hrm," said Constantine in his normal talkative way. "Where's Zee, by the way? I thought I saw her before you did your number on me."

Zatanna stood, and stepped back into Constantine's field of view. "John," she said icily.

"Hello, love," said Constantine, flashing her that roguish smile he seemed to favour. "Did you miss me?"

The sound of the ringing slap across the face that he received was music to Harry's ears.

"Does that answer your question?" she said, as she rubbed her hand.

Constantine rocked his jaw back and forth a couple of times. Probably checking to make sure it wasn't dislocated. "Yeah," he said. "I think I got the message."

"Feel better?" said Harry. After Zatanna nodded in response, he turned his attention back to Constantine. "Well, in that case, care to tell us why you attacked us earlier?"

He just looked confused. "That hit must have been harder than I thought," he said. "I was sure you attacked me, not the other way around. I was minding my own business."

"I don't mean here, smart-dick," said Harry impatiently. "At the club on Amusement Mile."

"What club?"

"The Olympus Lounge, of course," said Harry, looking between the man's eyes and trying to discern his honesty. A man like Constantine was almost impossible to read, simply because he always looked like he was lying. "Where you just about cremated the whole bloody place, and us along with it?"

"Never been there, mate," Constantine responded. "Came straight here when I was able to ditch your goons."

That couldn't be allowed to stand. "They're trained law enforcement professionals," said Harry. "Unlike you. Why not tell them if you were worried the Book had been found?"

"Well, wouldn't want to waste their time if I was wrong, them being 'law enforcement professionals' and all," said Constantine.

Sass from the man tied to a chair. Nice.

At that point, a thoughtful Zatanna rejoined the conversation. "You said you came straight here?"

There was a flicker in the man's cool demeanour. He knew she'd caught him out there. If he had indeed gone straight to the Book's hiding place, that meant he knew exactly where it was. "You never even thought to check on it?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Old Zatara hid it well," said Constantine, his previous devil-may-care smile firmly back in place. "Wasn't until you started poking around that I thought it might be in danger."

"Are you really trying to dump the blame onto us?" said Harry, completely unable to hide his incredulity. The man honestly beggared belief. "If it happened how we think, some random muggle was the one to find it, and it sent him around the twist, all because your fucking fee-fees hurt and you wanted to try and run away from them instead of doing the responsible thing?"

Constantine's smile slipped. "You—"

He wasn't afforded the luxury of finishing his sentence, as at that moment the room imploded. The walls were blasted inwards, and huge chunks of brick and plaster peppered them from all sides. None of them had been ready for it, and all three were sent tumbling to the floor, covered in rubble.


	13. Chapter 13

The explosion flipped Harry's chair over, throwing him to the ground, and leaving him partially trapped beneath its weight. He was the lucky one, though. Neither Zatanna nor Constantine had benefited from protection like Harry's big squishy chair had provided and it looked like Constantine at least was out cold beneath a small pile of shattered masonry. Through the smoke and rubble, Harry couldn't make out Zatanna's location, but she was surely no better off than her ex-boyfriend.

He knew he had to move quickly. Even before his vision had properly cleared, and his ears had stopped ringing, he banished his conjured chair with a flick of the wrist. With strength born from a welcome rush of adrenaline, he pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. As he rose he grabbed a couple of lumps of debris, and he drew his wand.

"Portus," he said. The thick dust still hanging in the air made it little better than a croak, but the incantation fulfilled its purpose. The two lumps of rubble glowed when he tapped them with his wand. Without any further delay, he banished the first portkey at Constantine, who had not moved. He disappeared with an inward rush of air.

He searched desperately around the room for where Zatanna had fallen, but he was quickly running out of time.

There had been two explosions, each blasting a wide hole in one of the room's walls. Only pure luck had seen Harry mostly sheltered from the blasts, with the back of his squishy chair pointed towards the sources of the explosions. Through the choking dust, powdered bricks and mortar, Harry saw silhouettes appear in the newly created openings.

He finally located her, when his tortured ears finally recovered enough to hear the sounds of her groans. Within a moment, the second portkey was flying through the air towards her. She, too, disappeared with the rush of a departing portkey, leaving swirling eddies in the settling dust.

He hoped that Zatanna wasn't too badly injured. Constantine, on the other hand, could look after himself. He'd already decided not to make his escape straight away. He wanted to see how it would play out. Every bit of information could be valuable.

The air had become clear enough to see, and he watched as three men jumped through each of the newly-blasted holes. They weren't wizards; each of them carried only a machine gun. A final man stepped in shortly after the first group, and he immediately drew Harry's attention. He entered through the door, rather than the wall breaches, and he looked completely at ease amid the destruction.

He was roughly the same height as Harry himself, and wearing dark coloured robes. His most noticeable feature, however, was the mask. It was black, and shaped like a skull. Made of a dark wood, it had originally been rough-hewn, but regular handling had polished it to an almost lacquered finish.

"You were warned to leave," said Black Mask. His voice wavered, and Harry could see the barely contained rage held within his eyes. The voice was Neville's.

Harry wanted to swear, to punch someone, to do something, anything that would mean it wasn't Neville behind that mask, but he couldn't deny his own ears. "Neville," he said, his voice sounding defeated even to him. "What have you done?"

"Nothing less than is necessary," said Neville, holding out a hand to stop the masked thugs from shooting Harry. Perhaps there was still hope.

"Necessary?" said Harry, speaking gently. He didn't want Neville any more pissed off than he already was. If they both stayed calm, maybe he could be talked down. "Neville, how many people have died? How can that be necessary?"

"I thought you of all people might understand," said Neville as he shook his head as if expressing disappointment to a child. "You've been here a while now. You've seen this city. How many have already died because others didn't have the stomach to do what was needed?"

"You can't take the law into your own hands," said Harry. As he spoke he tried to keep an eye on the six other men surrounding him. They had not fired, but their guns were still trained on him. "That's not how justice works."

"You did," said Neville, pointing at Harry almost accusingly. "We all did. And why? Because justice doesn't work at all. There is no justice in the world, but that which we bring ourselves."

"Neville, that wasn't justice." He needed to understand. "That was survival. Justice would have meant Voldemort had to pay for his crimes. This isn't justice either. Why are you doing this?"

Neville started pacing around Harry, forcing him to turn on the spot to keep following him. "I was shown what was necessary," he said as he paced. "I think you've met Roman? A torturer and a sadist that would make even Bellatrix Lestrange" —he spat the name— "sit up and pay attention. And he's not even the worst of them."

"You're not a gang-leader, or a vigilante, Neville," said Harry. "You're a teacher—"

"A teacher of what?" Neville interrupted. "Children, or ready victims for men like Roman, like the Lestranges, like Voldemort?"

"Children!" Harry snapped. "Perhaps you didn't notice, but Voldemort is gone, the Lestranges are gone, Crouch is gone. Those children will grow up in a better world than we did."

"Because we took the law into our own hands when it failed us," said Neville.

"We didn't take the law into our own hands!" Harry was rapidly losing in his battle to stay calm. Neville was, knowingly or not, asking a lot of the same questions that had often plagued Harry's nightmares in the years following Voldemort's fall. "There was no law, then. Only the whims of a mad-man."

Neville scoffed, and swept his arms in a wide gesture. "Have you seen this city? Does it seem overrun with law-abiding citizens to you?"

"Yes!" said Harry, seeing an opening. "Thousands of them, hundreds of out into the street, right now, and you'll see them. Normal people, going about normal lives. The gangs will lose Neville, and they'll lose the right way."

"No they won't, not if no-one is willing to fight back." Neville's voice was dismissive, and he turned away. "They're hiding in mediocrity, praying for a saviour, like all of Britain did back then."

"And you think you are that saviour?"

Something in Neville snapped, and he whirled back around. "If I must be, yes!" he said furiously. "I can be for Gotham what you were for Britain, I can save them, if only they stay out of my way. If you stay out of my way."

"I was no saviour, Neville," said Harry, his voice no longer raised. Why didn't he understand? "You saved yourself, so did Ron, and Hermione, Ginny, Tonks, Remus, everyone else. You all saved yourselves, and you saved each-other. I was just one of many."

"If you truly think that then you are as much of an idiot as Dumbledore was." Neville shook his head, as if in disbelief. "Without you, no-one would have fought. Without you, we all would have died. I thought you would understand my actions, at least, even if you would not condone them, but it looks like I gave you too much credit. You're as blind as Dumbledore ever was. The world needs people like me. People willing to do whatever is necessary to defeat the darkness."

"Neville, I know you're hurting," said Harry. He needed to find a way through the anger. "But this isn't the way. You can't protect the innocent if you sacrifice them. Your mother wouldn't want this."

That had been the wrong thing to say. Rage flashed in Neville's eyes. "My mother doesn't want anything because men like Roman fucking Sionis think they own the world. My mother hasn't wanted anything for years, because men like you can't see beyond your own fear and self-doubt. No more."

Harry realised that Neville and all of his lackeys were on the same side, and Harry's back was to an undestroyed corner of the room. They'd arranged themselves to avoid friendly fire. He looked into Neville's eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was legilimency or prescience, but in that moment he knew what was about to happen.

Without stopping to think, Harry dove to the side to avoid the sizzling blast of raw magic that issued from Neville's suddenly outstretched hand. Even as he flew through the air, his wand was weaving a complex pattern.

The moment the light from Neville's attack faded, his lackeys opened fire with familiar abandon. Instantly, the air was filled with the deafening rattle of fully automatic weapons. By that time, though, Harry's spell had already taken effect. The rubble around everyone's feet rose up into the air and started zipping to-and-fro about the room with almost blinding speed.

The hail of bullets met a wall of stone, and the results were spectacular. Between Harry and the thugs, the air was filled with tiny explosions as the larger lumps of brick were smashed by the incoming bullets. Some made it through, but much of their energy had been spent, and they bounced off his long-coat without causing any damage. In the time that his spell bought him, Harry threw up a simple shield charm, and the few bullets that did make it through were stopped dead.

He was not only fighting the muggles though. Another of Neville's impossibly powerful attacks scythed through the debris cloud, instantly vaporising anything it hit. Fortunately for Harry, powerful though the spell was, his animated cloud was enough to hide him from view. The beam of pure magical energy dug a deep furrow in the floor and wall behind Harry, but it did not touch him.

The cloud of brick and plaster had, in mere seconds, been reduced to little more than dust, but it had done its job. The thugs were out of bullets and needed to reload. Harry stretched out his palm to direct the cloud of debris, and it responded instantly. It rushed in towards his attackers an implosion of rubble, and they were at the epicentre. Eyes, noses, and mouths, all were soon clogged with the fine-ground brick remains and they were left doubled over, coughing and choking on the fine stone-dust. Their guns were dropped, forgotten on the floor as they tried to use their hands in a vain attempt to protect their eyes.

Neville was not so incapacitated. With a wordless cry he swung both his hands to the side and the entire cloud was slapped out of the way. With the air suddenly cleared between them, Harry was able to take stock once more.

The muggles were likely down for the time being at least. Blinded and unable to breathe properly, they were all on their knees, or on the ground clutching at their faces and necks. Neville stood in the middle of them surrounded by a shimmering shield which enveloped him, like a memory of silver hovering in the air. The shield hadn't been quick enough, though. Even from across the room, Harry could make out his blood-shot eyes and hacking cough. He'd avoided the worst of it, but even his bizarre magic was limited by his reaction times.

"That's quite some magic you're using there," said Harry conversationally. He'd never seen anything like the beam attack, and even the shield was unfamiliar. Neville was no slouch, but there was no way he could have been hiding abilities like those under his hat. "Where did you learn that?"

"I have seen the truth, Harry," said Neville, eyes wide behind his mask. "I have seen true magic, and it is beautiful."

The book. It must have been the book that had driven Sionis so completely mad, and it had done something similar to Neville too. "This isn't you, Neville," said Harry, trying desperately to reach his friend through whatever influence the book had placed upon him. "The book is controlling you. This isn't what you want."

"You think you know what I want?" said Neville, and he sent another beam of intense power lancing through the air.

With no concealment, and no time to move, Harry instead reinforced the shield he'd cast earlier, and as Neville's spell hit it, he could feel the power behind it as the shield unravelled around it. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Less than a second later, despite Harry's best efforts, the shield collapsed, but it had done just enough. The crackling white beam missed by inches, and instead cut another deep gouge into the wall.

There was no way Harry could keep up with that kind of power, wherever it had come from. There was no doubt in his mind that it was some kind of possession, but how could he break it?

He spun on the spot and apparated for the first time in the fight. It was always a tricky and highly dangerous strategy to employ. There was no way, in the heat of battle, to perform a stealthy apparation, the crack of disapparation and apparation echoed around the room.

Aurors were trained to handle apparating foes. That tell-tale twist of the heel before departure and the moment of confusion upon arrival, both were universal. It took a second or two for the mind to readjust to the new environment in which it found itself, and that could be exploited by a prepared wizard. Shield charms and most other protections would drop upon apparation, and the witch or wizard would be left defenceless until they could re-establish them. A second was more than enough for a trained Auror.

Neville might have become improbably powerful, but he still had no real training, and he was missing the awareness that allowed Aurors to really capitalise on mistakes like combat apparation.

As Harry disapparated, Neville lost sight of him, and lowered his hands just slightly. Another mistake. Never assume an apparating foe is fleeing. Always look for the trap, especially when fighting an Auror. Aurors didn't back down.

At that same moment, Harry reappeared just feet behind him. As soon as he'd regained his bearings, before Neville had even reacted to his move, he hit him with a powerful banishing charm. He followed it immediately with a stunner powerful enough to give even a dragon pause.

The banisher succeeded in knocking him back on his heels, but that faint silvery shield once again shimmered into being, and both spells splashed against it uselessly. Unlike a normal shield charm, it seemed to be ever present, and evidently surrounded Neville completely. He'd have to adjust his strategy as direct attacks wouldn't cut it against a shield powered by the same thing that allowed Neville to throw around those power lances.

Instead, before Neville was able to turn and react to the attacks, Harry stabbed at the ground with his wand, driving it into the solid concrete with everything he had. The entire floor collapsed into a newly revealed basement level. Harry was able to arrest his fall with a cushioning charm, but Neville was not so lucky. He landed heavily amid the destruction but he didn't stay down. He stood up amongst the rubble, half of his mask broken off, and with blood running down the revealed side of his face, he wasn't going to give in that easily.

This time when he extended his hand, the magic that issued forth was not a beam, but a wide cone that Harry could never have avoided.

"Scindo!" said Harry, desperation creeping into his tone. It was his first spoken incantation in the fight. He sincerely hoped it worked.

A pale blue light shot forth from Harry's wand and where it struck the approaching cone of light it cut right through, cleaving the cone in two, and leaving Harry untouched in a narrow wedge of unburned air. Neville's eyes went wide when he realised that Harry had managed to counter his most recent attack, but Harry didn't waste his time. There was no time for self-congratulation in a fight.

He lifted his wand skywards, and with an inverted levitation charm, tore the ceiling of the room above downwards, right onto Neville's head. Or, that's what would have happened if his opponent hadn't done exactly what Harry had hoped he'd do.

As the collapsing ceiling neared Neville, Harry saw the tell he'd been watching for. Neville twisted on his heel. He was going to apparate. His eyes fixed on a point just behind Harry and to the left, and with an almighty crack he disapparated. In the next moment, he reappeared, exactly where Harry had seen him looking.

Before he even knew where he was, he was unconscious. Harry's silent stunning spell hit him less than a second after he'd arrived.

A moment later the ruined ceiling hit the floor in an explosion of dust and debris. Then, much more slowly, Neville's unconscious body keeled over, sending up another smaller cloud of dust when it landed.

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the occasional ominous creak from the damaged building. Harry took a deep breath and immediately regretted it after breathing in a lungful of brick and plaster dust. He stepped over to where Neville had fallen and pulled the broken mask from his face.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to see. It was Neville. He was covered in dust, and the cut was bleeding freely, but he was still just Neville. The men Neville had brought with him were all badly injured as a result of the collapsing floor and falling ceiling. One was even missing an arm from where one of Neville's beams of magic had cut through him. He was lucky that the wound had been instantly cauterised by whatever that spell had been.

Harry felt the post-battle fatigue begin to settle over him, and he sat down on a large lump of concrete not far from where Neville lay. He stared into the remaining empty eye of the mask Neville had been wearing and wondered just where everything had gone wrong.

Harry knew he had to act quickly. Zatanna and Constantine were both injured, and while he didn't think it was likely to be life-threatening, he couldn't know for sure. "Scobo," he said, and soon the contents of Neville's pockets were flying into a neat pile in front of Harry. The book that had caused all the trouble was the last to appear, and came to rest innocently upon the floor.

It looked as old as any book Harry had seen in Hogwarts library, which had tomes that dated back to the time of the founders themselves. It was bound in a thick dark-red leather-like material, and the cover had a single symbol on it, the crowned tear that had been in Sionis' memories. He resisted the urge to open it, as surely that was a terrible idea in the circumstances, and stood up.

Then, he felt anti-apparation and anti-portkey charms settle over the building. His day really wasn't going to let up, apparently. With the tiniest grunt of effort, he rose once again to his feet, and held his wand at the ready. If whoever was coming wanted a fight, Harry would be ready to give it to them.

Soon, the room overhead was populated by four stony-faced Aurors with their wands out and ready.

"Aurors! Wands down!" was the loud command from the leader of the squad, his short salt-and-pepper hair and scarred face making his easily identifiable as the most senior Auror present.

Harry wasn't about to get into a bust-up with a small squad of Aurors, and so did as commanded. He lowered his wand, but he did not drop it, or stow it away. After-all, anyone could claim to be Aurors, and Harry knew well just how stringently MACUSA avoided Gotham.

"Stand down! Stand down, I say!" President Quahog entered the room with a purposeful stride that seemed out-of-place on him, but Harry was grateful for his arrival nonetheless. The Aurors quickly lowered their wands.

Quahog's usual affectations were absent, as he wasted no time. "Where are they?"

"They?" Harry said, genuinely puzzled. "It's just Neville and some muggle thugs."

"Longbottom?" said Quahog, his eyes flicked around the room for a moment before they came to rest on Neville. "Yes, of course. The no-majes will have to be obliviated, and Longbottom will need to come with me."

"Neville is a British wizard," said Harry. There was no way he was going to let him take the fall for whatever whammy the book, now resting safely in one of Harry's many pockets, had laid on him. "He's my responsibility, so I'll be taking him back home to get treated for what happened here."

"Now, now," said Quahog, backing off in the face of Harry's ire. He jumped down into the hole Harry had blasted with unexpected agility. "That's all I need to know, what exactly did happen here?"

"From what I can see? He got caught up in some of Constantine's idiocy," said Harry. He realised he needed to get back to his hotel room to check up on them both. "Zatara left him a powerful book to protect, and he just left it here for some muggle to find. Warped his mind, then did the same to Neville when he tried to take the bastard down."

"Sounds like a dangerous artifact," said Quahog, eyes darting around the room. "Have you found it?"

"It's possible he still has it on him," Harry said, deciding that it would be best to keep it as secret as possible. The mere observation that he didn't appear to have anything in his pockets was completely worthless when magic had to be considered. "It was lending him power, or something."

"In that case," said Quahog, still much more serious than Harry was used to. "I really must insist that we take Mr. Longbottom in, at least until we can identify this book. If it is as dangerous as you say, we should leave it to professionals."

The man had a point. Neville would be safe in their custody, for the time being at least, and it would get him out of Gotham. Harry could deal with MACUSA in his own good time. The only problem was that Harry trusted the Americans 'experts' about as far as he could throw them when it came to the book. It was one thing to trust them with the temporary custody of a friend, Carruthers might be an arsehole, but he ran a pretty tight ship, but it was something else entirely to surrender a mind-, and potentially reality-, altering magical artifact to their care.

If he was honest, he wasn't even sure he'd trust British Unspeakables either, but at least in Britain he'd be able to keep a proper eye on things.

"Alright, you can take him for the time being," said Harry. He had to check up on Zatanna and Constantine, anyway. He still trusted the man about as far as he could throw him, and he didn't need Neville slowing him down if Constantine did prove to be a problem. He was under no illusions that his easy victory earlier had been indicative of how a fight between the two of them would turn out. John Constantine was a dangerous man, and Harry could never let himself forget it. "But I want to talk to him as soon as he's lucid. And I'll be taking him home tomorrow, once I've got everything else squared away."

With his apparent victory in hand, Quahog slunk back behind his usual genial facade. "Of course, of course! Now, I should talk to my Aurors and make sure that they understand the situation."

Quahog then turned to the Aurors who were in varying states of readiness. Harry noticed that the young Auror from earlier, MacGruder, was standing to one side, wand at the ready, by the unconscious bodies of Neville's erstwhile lackeys. Harry nodded approvingly at the level of attention he was showing his job, despite it being so simple as merely guarding some muggles.

Perhaps he could do better than that. With a wandless gesture, Harry summoned the top hat Zatanna had found in the safe and walked over to the young Auror. It had only been slightly damaged in their fight, and a quick spell rectified that.

"We found this in Zatara's hiding place," he said. There was no way the old man would have wanted his prized possession left in a gang hideout. "Here, why don't you look after it a while. Might be important evidence after-all."

MacGruder's eyes went wide as they came to rest on the hat. For a painful moment, Harry wondered what it was like to have mentors and role-models who hadn't fallen from grace.

He shook his head to shake those thoughts away. They wouldn't do anyone any good. "Here," he said, and passed the hat over into the shaking hands of the younger man.

After taking a long moment to stare at it, MacGruder shrank it down and put it into one of his pockets. He shook Harry's hand with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"Don't mention it."

Then, with a final departing farewell, Harry apparated with a quiet pop back to his hotel room.


	14. Chapter 14

Upon arriving back at the suite, he was heartened to see that Zatanna was up and moving. Or she had been moving, at least. She'd managed to get from where the portkey had deposited her, and into one of the chairs. She was slouched over the table, head cradled in her hands, practically broadcasting the throbbing headache she was likely feeling. A towel-wrapped ice-pack, animated through magic, was rubbing the back of her head rhythmically.

Her clothes had been torn up a bit by the debris, and she was sporting more than a few visible cuts and bruises. No doubt she'd be feeling that afternoon for a few days, even with some spell-work to heal up the more visible injuries. Her injuries actually looked fairly minor for someone caught in the middle of the kind of explosion in which they'd found themselves.

He was less pleased to see that Constantine was sitting next to her, looking similarly worse for wear. Harry snapped his fingers, and the man was frozen in place.

Zatanna looked up when she realised her company had become completely motionless. "What happened?" Zatanna asked, looking up from the table. Her eyes were bloodshot from the explosion and her face was covered in scratches and bruises.

"It was Neville, all along," he said, feeling tired. There was a well of hopelessness that seemed to open up inside him when he tried to think about what had happened to his friend.

"Bruce was right?" She frowned, before glancing across at the petrified Constantine. "Then what was that for?" she asked, her voice gaining a definite edge. She grabbed the hovering ice pack and set it down on the table. "He's done nothing wrong."

"Well, that's definitely debatable," Harry pointed out. He was not feeling especially charitable at that moment. "Lets take for instance the fact that he just about immolated us earlier."

"That wasn't him," she said firmly as she picked the ice pack up and pressed it against the back of her head again. "I thought you said it was your friend?"

"Neville had no reason to go looking for the book," he pointed out. No doubt Constantine had taken the opportunity to argue his case. Surely she couldn't be that naive? "You want to take Constantine's word for it?" he said, not bothering to hide his incredulity. The man had a relationship with the truth that could best be described as 'it's complicated'.

"Well John had no reason to go to the Lounge, either," said Zatanna, sounding very much she was parroting Constantine's own defence. "He already knew where the book was!"

"Correction," said Harry, far more brusquely than he intended. "Actually, he only thought he knew where the book was, but as he never bothered to check on the incredibly powerful, potentially mind-warping artifact he really had no fucking clue where it might be."

"It's not John's fault if your friend got caught up in this!"

"Isn't it?" Harry asked. The way he saw it, there was plenty of blame to go around. He was sure that a generous amount of it would land at the feet of the man who'd been entrusted with the protection of a dangerous artifact and then done a runner. "If he'd done what your father asked, and actually protected the bloody thing, then none of this would have happened. Before you jump to your boyfriend's defense again, let me just remind you that he also dumped you without a word at the same time. Not exactly the actions of the selfless fucking hero you seem to think he is."

Zatanna scowled and flashed Constantine an angry look. Perhaps Harry had been off the mark on that. That particular hatchet clearly wasn't as buried as he'd thought. "Oh, don't get me wrong, he's an asshole," she said, after her angry gaze returned to fix upon Harry. "But in this specific case, _he's_ not the asshole at fault."

"I'm sorry?" said Harry. He pointed at where the frozen Constantine was following their argument in the only way he could, with eyes bouncing back and forth between them as if watching a tennis match. "He's not at fault? So you don't see the problem with him doing a runner and neglecting the duty your own father charged him with?"

"Don't bring my father into this," said Zatanna, as anger flashed across her features. She put the ice-pack down a little harder than necessary, producing a wet slap as it hit the table. "He left me for years to search for that damned book. I thought he came back, but not really. He only came back so he could hide the fucking thing." Her voice cracked, and she cleared her through before continuing in a stronger voice, "His last request was to look after that fucking thing. In his last moments, the thing that mattered most to him was some damned book. He had no right to drop that on John. No-one deserves that."

"Constantine's a big boy," said Harry dismissively. The man had a clinical aversion to asking for help, after all. His problems were his own. "And something that comes part-and-parcel with that is dealing with it when someone drops a shit-sandwich on your doorstep. You said it yourself. No-one deserves it, but someone has to deal with the shit or everyone gets covered in it. Just like what happened here. He could have handled it, I'm sure. And you know what? I'd have thought looking after your girlfriend after her Dad dies is pretty fucking implicit in the job description."

"I said leave my father out of it!" Zatanna jumped to her feet and poked at Harry's chest. "You just want to find someone to blame so that you don't have to come to terms with the fact that your friend dipped into cursed magic in the pursuit of power."

"It's more complicated than that!" said Harry, indignant on his friend's behalf, even if he knew she was right. "Look, I'm not going to talk about it, because frankly it's none of your fucking business, but Neville has had to deal with a lot of shit, and whatever whammy that book laid on him played on some pretty deep seated issues."

"Oh, so your friend gets excuses for killing people, but John doesn't even get to speak in his own defence when all he's done is be a bastard?"

Harry threw up his hands in frustration. "I'm not saying that! Constantine has more than enough blood on his hands, whether you want to accept it or not. I'm not saying Neville is blameless, but his mistakes came from a good place. I've still not managed to work out just how your boyfriend justifies the trail of bodies and ruined lives he lives in his wake."

"He is not my boyfriend, and you have no idea," said Zatanna, her voice suddenly dropping to become dangerously quiet. "John doesn't kill people, but he also isn't able to save everyone. There's no blame in that."

"There is if you don't at least try," said Harry. "So he didn't cast the spell, big fucking deal. Maybe that helps his conscience, but it doesn't help the families of the people caught in the crossfire."

Zatanna's eyes burned, but Harry got the distinct impression that she wasn't even looking at him, not really. They were focussed on something long past. "Maybe he didn't have the chance to save them," she said. "I'm sure the world looks pretty fucking simple from all the way up on that ivory tower you've built yourself, but down here, in the real world? It's not that damned easy."

"That's just what we tell ourselves when we don't try," said Harry, as he valiantly attempted to ignore the flash of indignation at her suggestion that he, of _all_ people, didn't understand hard choices. "'I had no choice', they say. 'I couldn't do anything.' They're wrong. What they mean is that the other choice was something they really didn't want, and it's easier to pretend the choice never existed in the first place. Helps them deal with the guilt."

"Well, what choice did your friend decide to make? The Books give you what you want, only what you want. Your friend wanted the power to fix what he thinks is wrong in the world, and he got it. It was his damn decision to ignore the innocents that got in his way. Or maybe it wasn't a decision. Maybe he didn't even think about it. That's what you meant, right? About good people sometimes being worse than bad ones? They don't think about the things that get in the way of what they know to be right. And now people are dead, and you want to blame John for the actions of your friend. You know what? You do that. I'm so done with this shit."

Before Harry could say anything more, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door viciously behind her. After a long moment, he dropped limply into the chair she'd vacated.

He felt a set of eyes on him, and glanced towards the still-frozen Constantine. With a long-suffering sigh, Harry released the body bind.

The infuriating man didn't waste any time before he decided to give his two pence. "Hit a bit of a nerve there I think, mate."

"I swear to Merlin, I will punch you," said Harry tiredly. He really didn't need Constantine's bloody quips at that moment.

"Did she ever tell you what happened with her old boyfriend, Nick?" Constantine asked, seemingly unperturbed by the threat of violence. In fairness, Harry didn't really have the energy to go through with it. It would have been nice if the bastard could at least have humoured him though.

"Nick?" said Harry, frowning as he tried to remember the details. "Didn't you banish him to a hell dimension using his own ritual circle?

"Me? No, mate. Zee did it," said Constantine and for the first time since Harry had known the man, he looked genuinely remorseful. "I was barely holding him back, and Zee saw the opening and took it, and I don't think she'll ever forget it. That crap about 'didn't have any choice'? You basically called her out on it, even if you didn't know."

There was a long pause. "Well, shit."

"And she's got a point, you know. Your friend really dropped a bollock," said Constantine. It wasn't in any way a surprising opinion. If anyone excelled at shifting blame, it was Constantine. Always came out of everything squeaky bloody clean. "But you have a point too. You're right, I should have made sure the book was better protected. I didn't ask for it, but it fell to me anyway. I guess you know that better than anyone."

"Yeah, well, feel guilty all you like. It's not going to fix anything," said Harry. That was a lesson he'd learned long ago. "Look, what's the deal with that Book, anyway?"

Constantine was quiet for a few seconds before eventually responding. "It's not _the_ source of magic, or anything like that," he said. "But it is bloody powerful. Old Zatara reckoned it held the power of some ancient magician. Maybe one of the first. Maybe just a really powerful bastard. Whoever it was, they left… echoes in the Book. It grants visions, stokes ambitions, even gives power. All for the low-low price of your sense of right and wrong."

"But Neville still thinks he's doing the right thing," said Harry, after mulling over what he'd said.

"Yeah, but you need to look at what he's actually doing," said Constantine with a shake of the head. "Attacking innocents, ignoring collateral damage, sacrificing his own men? I said it stoked ambitions, yeah? Well his ambition was to bring about a safer world. Problem is, without that sense of right and wrong, he can't see that some prices aren't worth paying."

There was a long moment of silence then, and for a moment Constantine looked like he was going to say something else. Instead, he stood up, hands thrust into his pockets. "I should make sure Zee is okay,"

Lost in thought, Harry waved a hand absent-mindedly. "Knock yourself out," he said. There was a fair chance that it was Zatanna that would be doing the knocking, however, if that look she'd given the man was anything to go by. Ticked as she no-doubt was with Harry, Constantine hadn't exactly covered himself in glory either.

Without any further words exchanged, he made his exit in the same direction Zatanna had gone.

With the room to himself at last, Harry just wanted to blow something up. He'd never been good with the mushy stuff. He generally left that to Hermione to work out, really. But even an idiot could work out what was pissing him off.

Neville had betrayed him.

Oh, he hadn't done it directly, or even with any kind of malicious intent. He'd betrayed Harry's trust, and his faith. What was eating at him was that Neville was one of the small number of people that Harry needed to be good, kind, and considerate. He needed those people in order to justify his own cynical existence.

He was a symbol. A symbol of what Harry hoped to find in his fellow witches and wizards. He was not extraordinarily powerful or wise. He was not a great warrior or philosopher. He had no great destiny driving him, nor fate leading him. He was just an ordinary guy who was willing to step up to do the right thing when it was needed. He had stood up to Lord Voldemort with no plan, no weapon, and no hope, simply because it was what was right.

Harry had seen too many bad people in his time as an Auror but he had met far more people who had no convictions at all. They floated through their lives never really opening their eyes or ears to the world around them. They were the people who stayed silent, who just got on with things, who kept their heads down.

They, not the Death Eaters, were the people who had made Voldemort as dangerous as he had been. No matter how powerful he was, he could never have taken control as he had if the average wizard had even half the conviction that Neville did.

But if someone like Neville could go off the deep-end, what was to stop anyone else? Losing a loved one was tragic, Harry _knew_ that, but if it could blind someone like Neville, was there anyone out there who could really be trusted? Could Hermione lose herself like that? Could Ron? What was the point of trying to protect people, if the people you were protecting were really no different from the people you were protecting them from? If the good guys were just one bad day from being the bad guys, how did the world keep on working?

He walked out to the balcony and pulled out his communication mirror.

"Padma," he said, tonelessly. He looked out over the grey city-scape, looking but not seeing.

A few seconds later, the image swam out of focus for a second and when it returned his face was gone, replaced by Padma Patil looking back at him. Her hair was up in a towel and she was wearing a fluffy bath-robe, an interesting choice given the fact that she could have dried her hair in a second with a single spell.

"Harry, what's up?" she said, and Harry was distantly relieved to note that she did not seem to be annoyed at the early hour of his call.

On any other occasion he might have made a comment about the towel, but not now. "I found Neville," he said, his voice flat.

Padma had known him long enough to realise instantly that something was wrong. She immediately looked concerned. "Is he alive?"

"He's alive," said Harry, in the tone of someone announcing quite the opposite. "But he's also taken it upon himself to become a violent vigilante."

"I'm sorry, what? Neville Longbottom?" said Padma. She sounded every bit as confused as Harry felt. "Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"Yeah." Harry ruefully shook his head. He understood her disbelief only too well. Perhaps it was even worse for her, given their shared time in the DA when Harry had been away hunting down Horcruxes. "Neville."

Padma's jaw worked uselessly for a moment before she spoke. "What the fuck?"

That was the question that was repeating itself over and over in Harry's head. What. The. Fuck. As he tried to formulate his answer, he listened with half an ear to the distant sounds of Gotham. In the street below he heard a squeal of tires, and a cry of alarm. Just another day in the city that had stolen one of his best friends.

"He had people killed, Padma."

"How is that possible?" said Padma, eyes wide. Through the mirror, Harry watched her sit down heavily on the edge of her bed. "What happened?"

"He had a bad day," said Harry, remembering Batman's words. "He met a sadistic bastard and decided the world would be a better place if he was put away. I think he's really taken his mum's death hard. Then that Book got to him and made it all so much worse. Did some kind of a number on him. Then, fuck, I don't know. He decided he could do some more vigilante work? Stop more people like his mum from being hurt, maybe? He took over the bastard's gang and set them to the task of cleaning up the city."

"Where is he now, then?" asked Padma. Before, she'd been bustling about going through her morning routine as they spoke, now all her attention was focused on Harry.

"I left him with the yanks," said Harry wearily. "I didn't know what to do Padma."

"Yes, you do," she said firmly. "You're Harry fucking Potter. The best damn wizard I've ever known, and you'll bring him in and see that he gets the help he needs. Did you get the book? Maybe the greycloaks can work out what it did to him. It could be reversible."

That reminded him. He took a moment to pull the book out of the pocket into which he'd thrust it upon taking it off Neville. It still looked unremarkable, like any number of books in any number of magical libraries. It wasn't bound in human flesh, it didn't whisper secrets into his ear, and it didn't burn out the eyes of any who gazed upon it without protective charms.

"I got it," he said, holding it up for her to see.

She peered at it, and he got a close-up image of her nostrils. "That's it? Doesn't look like much."

"I've not looked inside," said Harry. In truth he worried about what might happen if he did. If Neville could have his moral compass warped to such a degree that he didn't see anything wrong with sacrificing the lives of innocents, well, what would it do to someone like him?

"Harry, if there's anyone in the world I'd trust with something like that, it's you," said Padma, once again firm in her possibly misplaced belief. "I know you don't see yourself the way everyone else does, but you gave up much greater power than that thing could possibly grant. You buried the unbeatable wand. I think you can handle a book."

"I never should have told you that story," said Harry with a rueful shake of his head. In his defence, he'd been fairly drunk at the time. Still, he wanted to be sure that he really had found the right book, and that it wasn't a forgery of some kind.

He frowned. Was that temptation to read it his own, or had the book stoked it like he'd been warned. That was one of the reasons he hated magical artifacts, nothing was ever simple. He could shrug off the effects of the Imperius Curse because the feeling of bliss it granted its victims was so alien to him, but curiosity had always been his achilles heel.

"No," he said finally. He dropped the book safely back into a pocket. "Not here, not now, and probably not me. I'll send it over to you and we can have the Unspeakables go over it thoroughly before anyone else so much as looks at it. We can't play fast and loose with a power like this."

"Whatever you say, boss," said Padma, and though she was clearly disappointed, he could see that she understood. "I still say it should be you to read it when the time comes. I wouldn't trust Croaker or any of his squints with that kind of temptation.

Harry was about to answer when his mirror suddenly grew hot. Padma's image melted away and was replaced by a momentary glimpse of a section of street not far from the hotel. It wasn't much, just what the mirror was able to capture in the moments before it was smashed, but what he did see wasn't good.

Zatanna was falling to the ground alongside the mirror. She was caught by a man in a long overcoat, before they both suddenly disappeared. Then the image shattered into thousands of shards.

Something else caught his eye, and with a twist of his wand he re-wound the single recorded second. There, on the other side of Zatanna's falling body, was the unmistakable face of Neville Longbottom.

Then Padma returned. "Harry, are you still—There you are," she said sounding relieved. "What's wrong now?"

"Neville got out somehow, and he's taken Zatanna," said Harry. Before Padma could respond in any way, he thrust the mirror back into a pocket and, without a second's thought, dove over the edge of the balcony. He transformed in mid-air and, with all the speed his Merlin form could muster, flew to the place he'd seen in the mirror. It wasn't far from the hotel; he recognised the newspaper stand on the corner of the road.

When he arrived, there was a crowd of confused muggles milling around. Between them Harry's sharp eyes picked out the glittering shards of a shattered mirror. Zatanna and Constantine were both nowhere to be found.

o-o

It was only minutes later that Harry strode into the Woolworth building in a towering rage.

"Where the fuck is Neville Longbottom?" he roared across the bustling room, bringing everyone to a sudden halt. "You had him in custody for, what, fifteen minutes and he fucking escapes?"

"Sir, you'll have to calm down," said a security-witch who'd quickly made her way over to him.

"Calm down?" said Harry with no small amount of incredulity. "How can I calm down when you shower of shits are letting possibly violent criminals roam free? Where is that rat bastard Quahog?"

The security-witch had been joined by two others, and even despite his anger, Harry identified a couple of off-duty Aurors watching the exchange with care from the side of the room. Part of him was just spoiling for a fight.

"Sir, if you do not calm down, you will be escorted from the building," said the larger of the two new additions, as the off-duty Aurors detached themselves from the wall and started making their way over.

"Potter! What in the blazes are you shouting about?" Carruthers had arrived, flanked by four more Aurors, one of whom was MacGruder.

"You lost my prisoner, Carruthers!" said Harry, glad to have someone with some actual responsibility to lay in about. "I left Neville in your care and you've lost him already!"

"Son, you clearly don't know shit from dick, we don't have your man. Never did," said Carruthers.

Harry pointed at MacGruder. "He was part of the team that brought him in. Quahog and some Aurors."

"The President doesn't command the Aurors," said Carruthers, looking insulted by the very thought, "I do, and I did not give MacGruder or any of my other Aurors leave to attend any kind of arrest alongside the President." Nonetheless, he turned to MacGruder, the obvious question implicit in his annoyed expression.

MacGruder himself looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I was just on my lunch break?" he said tentatively.

"Then why, exactly, do you still have dust and rubble from the damaged building on your robes and shoes?" said Harry.

MacGruder looked down, seemingly only then realising that he Harry was right. "I... don't remember?" he said. "I must have walked through some brick dust on my way back from lunch?"

"MacGruder, where do you remember going for your lunch?" Carruthers, glory be, seemed to actually believe Harry wasn't just blowing smoke.

"The cafeteria?"

"Son, I was in the cafeteria. You weren't," he turned to another of the Aurors. "Send for someone from Spell Reversal."

"But I, I remember? I had… uhh." He trailed off, looking troubled.

"Check your left pocket," said Harry.

MacGruder pulled out the shrunken hat that Harry had thrown to him after he'd collared Neville, and looked at it, baffled.

"I gave you that less than a half hour ago," said Harry. "And you don't remember anything?"

"But I... I can't remember anything!"

"It's alright, son. We'll get Spell Reversal to see what they can do," said Carruthers, who'd smoothly adopted a tone of almost fatherly concern. He turned back to the room at large, which was now filled with people silently watching the exchange. "I need everyone called in. We have a potentially dangerous criminal who has escaped containment. Someone find Quahog!"

"Sir, the President is unreachable," said a young man who'd been working at one of the atrium desks. "We don't know where he is. The charms aren't broken, but they're not responding."

That was the signal for pandemonium to break out in the foyer as everyone came to the realisation that their President had quite possibly been kidnapped.

"Potter, get the fuck out of my building," said Carruthers in between commanding the start of a nation-wide manhunt. "You and yours have done enough damage. Out. Now."

Not only had Neville and his accomplice taken Zatanna, but they'd taken Quahog too. Zatanna, Harry could just about understand. If he was wanting to decode the Book then she had access to her father's research, but what purpose could he have for Quahog?

If he'd taken him purely as a convenient hostage, then he'd surely miscalculated. Taking Quahog meant that MACUSA would not rest until he was found.

Something didn't quite make sense though. He had an accomplice, and while he'd assumed that that accomplice was Constantine, now that he was starting to calm down a bit, it really didn't make any sense. What would Constantine get out of it? He might thumb his nose at the law, but he always made sure to stay just the right side of legal. Kidnapping was not his style.

If it was Constantine, though, Harry knew that magic wouldn't be much help in trying to track down wherever it was that they'd gone. He needed something that neither Constantine nor Neville would think of. Like someone who'd been able to track Harry himself down. He knew exactly the man for the job.

Forgotten amid the rising chaos gripping the MACUSA foyer, Harry quickly made his exit. He apparated back to Gotham as soon as he was clear of the building's protective wards. No doubt a few muggles noticed his departure, but he found he didn't care. He had bigger fish to fry.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry strode quickly down the long private drive-way that connected the huge and imposing Wayne Manor from the road. Artfully sculpted hills and carefully placed stands of trees shielded the building from sight of the road, while giving it the feel of being surrounded by endless miles of pristine countryside.

The driveway curved gently around an ornamental lake, and even despite his urgency Harry couldn't help but appreciate the work that had gone into it all. Just beyond the hills and treetops was a bustling city of thousands, and yet if there was any indication of it, Harry couldn't see it. It was as if he'd been transplanted into an idyllic slice of the Yorkshire dales.

As he rounded the lake, the Manor itself came fully into view. It was, to put no fine point on it, monumental. Over the years successive generations of Waynes had each made their own additions and the result was a building with more different wings and towers than Harry could count. Tall Gothic windows, theatrical Baroque towers, and decorative Jacobethan parapets, all woven together into a single grand edifice. It was a testament to the power and legacy of the Wayne dynasty.

The walk took a few minutes, but given his previous unforgettable encounter with the Batman, he felt it was a necessary delay. The man was clearly highly secretive, with good reason, and having an unknown materialise at his door without warning would not be the best way into his good graces. Harry knew he'd have to be careful in his approach. Someone as paranoid and driven as he'd discovered Bruce Wayne to be would need to feel like they had some kind of control of the situation. If walking the length of his unreasonably long driveway meant the man felt more in control, and hopefully less on edge, then it was a delay Harry decided he'd have to accept.

An unexpected benefit of the walk was that Harry too, felt more in control of things. He had a plan, and if it went smoothly, he'd be able to safely rescue his friends. Misdirected anger and panic wouldn't help them. He had to keep his head.

After crossing the broad expanse of gravel at the front of the house, he at last reached the huge double doors. Beside the door there was a small, incongruously modern looking doorbell. Harry pressed it, and waited.

There was barely two seconds of delay before an older gentleman opened the door. It didn't take long to realise that he was some kind of butler or manservant from his very formal mode of dress. He had grey hair, a tidy moustache, and stood at what looked like parade-ground rest.

"Good evening, sir," he said in an impeccable English accent. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I'm Harry. I'm a friend of Zatanna's," he said. There really wasn't much time for pleasantries. Hopefully the man knew Wayne well enough that mentioning Zatanna would get his foot in the door. "She's in trouble, and I can't find her. I need Ba... Mr. Wayne's help."

The man's eyes widened only fractionally before whatever surprise he was feeling was quickly locked away again behind impenetrable steel doors. "Indeed, sir? In that case, perhaps you should come in," he stepped aside to allow Harry to enter. "Mr. Wayne will be along presently, "

"Thank you," said Harry as he stepped through, into the impressive foyer beyond.

He looked around, taking care to note anything potentially important. The room was built to the same mammoth scale as the rest of the house, and was richly decorated in marble and old polished oak. The entire room was festooned with all manner of art and artifact. Paintings, swords, fine china, and trophies of every kind left barely any space to see the lavish velvet-covered walls. Something that appeared a little out-of-place, however, was a ratty-looking rucksack of the kind usually carried by school children. It had been thrown up against the wall behind the door in the way seemingly common to children the world over.

In the middle of the room the grand staircase swept upwards in a sweeping crescent, lit from behind by towering glass windows that commanded an incredible view over the carefully curated exterior landscape. He did not have much time to appreciate it as Bruce Wayne arrived just moments later.

When Harry had first met the man on a lonely rooftop near Arkham Asylum, he'd been amazed that the man that was Batman was actually Bruce Wayne. He'd read a few of the papers, and they'd painted the picture of a self-absorbed, vain idiot who could barely fight his own urges, let alone all the criminal low-lives of Gotham.

This time the Bruce Wayne he was presented with was exactly the man he would have expected, before that night. He had a lazy grin on his face, tousled black hair, and the unfocused, slightly glazed expression of a man still feeling the effects of a serious hang-over despite the lateness of the hour.

"Alfred!" he said cheerfully as he wended his way somewhat haphazardly across the room. "Who is this? I hope it's not another tax inspector!"

"Let's just cut to the chase," said Harry, still mindful of the fact that a number of people were missing. "I'm a friend of Zatanna. She's missing. You're Batman, and I need your help to find her."

Wayne's demeanour changed with the flick of a switch. One second, he had been a buffoon, and the next, he was assessing Harry with a laser focus. "Two days ago, Arkham. You altered my memories. Magic?"

There went the hope that Wayne hadn't worked that particular wrinkle out yet. That might prove problematic. The fastest solution, he'd decided, was almost certainly to simply tell the truth. "I'm sorry about that," he said mostly honestly, "It's the law that non-magical people who become aware of magic should be obliviated, that is, have their memories of it removed. How did you work it out?"

A muscle in Wayne's jaw twitched, but his voice remained completely level. "What's your name, really?" he said, choosing to completely ignore Harry's question.

"Look, I'll level with you as you already seem to be in the know," said Harry, realising that he wouldn't get anything from the man without giving up something in return. "My name is Harry Potter, and I'm part of the law enforcement department of the UK's magical government. An Auror."

"The UK has a magical government?" said Wayne, eyes narrowed. "I've worked with both Constantine and Zatanna before. They never mentioned it."

"Constantine and my government don't exactly get on," said Harry. His weak attempt to inject some much-needed humour to the conversation fell completely flat when Wayne didn't so much as crack a smile. "Zatanna, well I'd guess she didn't mention the larger magical society much because she's mostly outside it. So long as she doesn't endanger our secrecy, we don't do anything to make her life difficult."

Explaining the details of MACUSA's position on Gotham was definitely too complicated to get into. Fortunately, it seemed to satisfy Wayne. Or, at the very least, he changed his line of questioning.

"Why come to me?" Wayne asked, voice still clipped and completely controlled. "If you're part of your government, you have resources. You've already demonstrated my current limitations when combating magic."

"A few reasons," said Harry. 'Current limitations' was an interesting way of putting it. "First, the US has its own government. I'm out of my jurisdiction. Second, Zatanna isn't part of their wheelhouse either. I said she was mostly outside, well that means MACUSA has no interest in searching for her. Finally, finding a wizard that doesn't want to be found is very difficult, no matter how many resources we have. You, though? You found me. You could find them."

"I found you because you made mistakes," said Wayne. His gaze was assessing, and Harry felt a little like he was back in his Auror assessment, trying to explain his spell selection to his old instructor.

"Everyone makes mistakes," said Harry. It was something of a mantra among the investigators of the department. "They already made their first one when they let Zatanna warn me that it was happening. They'll make more."

"You said, 'them'," said Wayne. "Zatanna isn't the only hostage?"

Harry grimaced, he'd hoped they might be able to avoid that particular complication. "Constantine, maybe, and perhaps one other."

"Who?"

"MACUSA President Quahog," Harry said, realising that he wasn't going to get anything from Wayne until he'd had his questions answered.

Something changed in Wayne's posture, then. It became just a little more imposing. "Again then, why come to me?"

The implication was clear enough. Why go to Batman when the whole of the MACUSA was probably tearing itself apart searching for Quahog. "I can't trust them," said Harry. "The kidnapper was in their custody for all of five minutes before apparently breaking out and obliviating a squad of aurors. I don't buy that at all. He had to have inside help. Besides, like I said, if a wizard wants to hide, it's no easy task to find them. I'm here because you managed it, and in record time. I realise you don't trust me, but at the moment I don't much care. We need to find Zatanna."

Wayne's steely eyes bored into Harry for a long count of seconds until he grunted, and turned on his heel to walk back in the direction from which he'd materialised.

"You may rest assured that Master Bruce will do everything in his power to locate Miss Zatanna," said Alfred, managing to pull significantly more meaning from the noise Wayne had made than Harry would have thought possible. "Would you perhaps care for some tea while we wait?"

After a brief shake of the head, Harry moved to follow the retreating man. There was no indication that it was expected or even desired, but Harry would be damned if he was going to sit in a squishy armchair and drink terrible American tea while his friends were missing.

Seemingly unfazed by the fact that Harry had largely ignored him, Alfred trailed him at a respectable distance until Wayne rounded a corner and disappeared. When Harry turned the bend, the corridor beyond was completely empty. No sign of Wayne at all.

"Perhaps sir would care for some coffee instead then?" said Alfred as he drew up level, still completely unflappable.

Besides the butler's voice, there were no other sounds. The Batman, however, was clearly extremely good at infiltration, so silent movement was likely to be a well-used part of his skill-set.

He flicked his wand. " _Homenum Revelio._ "

The butler was immediately lit up by the spell, but it took Harry a few seconds to locate the other man. There, Wayne was somewhere below ground-level, yet there were no stairs anywhere nearby in the corridor.

The corridor had a few doors leading off it, though. Perhaps there was some kind of servant's stair hidden behind one of them? Harry turned back to where Alfred was still hovering by a large grandfather clock. "Look, I'm sorry for being rude, but my friends may not have much time. I can probably help Wayne with the search. He knows about Zatanna and Constantine but he doesn't know anything about the rest of our society. If he finds something, I may be needed to add context."

"I'm sure Master Bruce will be grateful for that help, should he find himself in need of it." Obviously Harry's poor manners had not endeared him to the man.

Then the clock clicked, and swung forwards just slightly to reveal a dark space hidden behind it. Alfred's expression revealed nothing, but there might just have been the slightest widening of the eyes. Surprise?

"Well, that makes things easier," said Harry as he pulled the hidden door open to find a narrow, brick-walled, spiral staircase leading down to wherever it was Wayne was hiding.

It took longer than he'd expected to make the descent with Alfred following quietly behind. It wasn't merely a hidden basement, he realised when he finally reached the bottom, but a massive subterranean space that could only really be described as a lair.

It was a huge natural cavern, at least four-storeys in height, and tall enough that much of the roof had disappeared into darkness. Stalactites loomed out of the blackness overhead, and the only noises were of dripping water and the occasional flutter of unseen wings. The floor was well-lit by downlights, hung from trusses suspended from the ceiling.

There were a number of concrete platforms and buildings scattered around the flattest part of the cavern floor, and on them were all manner of things. There was a heavily armoured car, more like something the army would use than anything a civilian would ever own. There were a few bikes, and even something that was probably some form of plane, though it was unlike any plane Harry had ever seen.

Another of the platforms held a set of large screens and monitors, and in front of those screens sat the Batman, illuminated in deep relief by their dim fluorescence .

Harry made his way across the cavern towards the platform where Batman was sitting, apparently paying him absolutely no attention. Text and arcane-looking symbols scrolled rapidly up the main screen while, on one of the side monitors, there were some blurry images of the strange flying man in red and blue.

"I like it," he said as he came up behind the black-clad figure that was typing rapidly on a keyboard with many more keys than Harry had seen before. "Very you. Do you call it the Bat Lair?"

"No," said Batman, eyes never leaving the screens on which images and text were flashing past faster than Harry could follow. He pointed to the screen with the flying man on it. "Is he yours?"

The man on the screen was somewhat hard to make out, but as Harry looked Batman hit some keys and a few more images popped up. He looked tall and very muscular, with dark hair, and blue eyes. Then there was that strange suit of his. It was extremely close-fitting, and unlike anything Harry had seen before. The most obvious thing about him, apart from the flying, was the large stylised 'S' on his chest. Apart from the fact that he was able to fly without assistance, there was nothing obviously magical about him.

"Don't think so," said Harry as he skimmed over a newspaper article which had dubbed the man 'Superman'. "That suit is a bit flamboyant, even for us. Who is he?"

"Unknown," said Batman, and Harry could detect the undercurrent of annoyance at having to admit that particular fact.

"They're calling him 'Superman'," said Alfred rather unnecessarily. Somehow, somewhere along the way from the grandfather clock to Wayne's computer station in the cave, he'd managed to acquire a pot of tea and a china cup. He poured some and offered it to Harry.

He was willing to be at least a little magnanimous in victory. He accepted the tea and took a quick sip.

It was very good tea indeed. Without realising he was doing it, Harry released a moan of pleasure. It had been days since his last decent cuppa.

"That is some good tea," he said appreciatively. His sole memory of muggle tea variations was from when he'd sneaked some of Aunt Petunia's as a child. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that a man as wealthy as Wayne was able to find the best.

"It is gratifying to at last find a man of refined tastes," said Alfred, the most subtle of smiles gracing his face.

"Got something," said Batman, giving no impression that he'd heard a word of what Harry or Alfred had said. "Zatanna's phone is still connected."

The huge central screen flashed up a photographic map of New York City before rapidly zooming in on an area on the north-east side of Manhattan island.

It looked like a fairly normal street. There was a little restaurant on one side of the road, but most of it was very normal-looking tenement buildings.

Then, unexpectedly, a car drove along the road they were looking at. "Wait, is this live?" Harry said with no small amount of wonder.

He didn't get anything more than a grunt from the Batman. Instead of responding, Batman tapped a few keys, and the car reversed backwards through the frame again, followed shortly by a few more. The footage rewound nearly fifteen minutes to the moment when Zatanna had been taken, and then it paused.

Harry stared at the image as Batman pushed a few more keys. One thing that caught his attention was a calico cat lying in a narrow patch of sun on top of a bin. He watched the cat jump to wakefulness in slow motion, before hissing at something unseen. It then jumped off the bin and bounded away across the street.

"There," said Harry, drawing Batman's attention to it. "They must have arrived near that bin. Wind it forward a bit."

Batman was already hitting some more keys, and after a few seconds, a door not far from the bin in question opened and closed entirely by itself. Next, Batman pulled up some plans of the building which revealed it to be ordinary flats.

"I wouldn't put much store in the plans," said Harry when he saw what he was doing. "Using magic it's possible that that door doesn't lead into anything even remotely like that."

Batman's unsettling white eyes narrowed. "A pocket dimension?"

Sometimes the speed with which Batman was able to leap to conclusions threw Harry off. "Uh, something like that." The real answer was filled with complex magical terms like 'Snodley's Law of Curious Minifolding Manifolds' or 'Pseudo-Karkellian Extra-Sorcerous Space Non-Invariant Curves' and really wasn't worth the trouble of trying to explain it.

"Ingress points?"

"Depends on how exactly they've structured it," Harry admitted. "It's possible that there are other entrances; windows, back-doors, that kind of thing. It's equally possible that that door is the only way in or out."

Something was nagging at Harry, there was something he was missing. "Wait. You said Zatanna's phone is still connected?"

"Yes," said Batman.

"Then there's at least one additional way in," said Harry quickly. He was really only dimly aware of how they worked, Hermione's best efforts notwithstanding, but he did know they couldn't work in a 'locked in' magical space. "If I had to guess, I'd say it will be a sky-light or something. I'd have to go there in person to find it."

Batman stood immediately. "Alfred?" he said, and his voice was just as deep and gruff as ever. "Ready the jet. Sunset is in fourteen minutes. We can be in New York in twenty-five."

"Actually," said Harry, raising his hand. "We can be there in ten seconds."

That caused Batman to pause. "Fifteen minutes then," said Batman before sweeping off in the direction of one of the other platforms.

"As you say, sir," said Alfred, taking up the recently vacated seat. He turned to Harry. "Might I suggest that you join Master Bruce in the Armoury? Perhaps there are some items that would be of use to you."

"Thanks, Alfred," said Harry with a genial nod before moving to follow Batman.

The armoury was impressive in its own right. It wasn't as grand as the manor, nor as huge and dramatic as the cave. In fact, the building itself was downright boring. On the outside it was really little more than a concrete box. It was what it contained that was the real treasure.

In the centre of the room, in their own glass tubes, there were two unused bat-suits. They both had subtle differences in armouring and style. There was a much lighter one, probably made for soft-approaches and infiltration; and a far more heavily armoured one that looked like it could shrug off a direct hit from a tank.

The rest of the room was filled with all manner of gadgets. Harry was unable to recognise the purpose for most of them, the one thing he did note, however, was a distinct lack of guns for a room called an 'armoury'. In fact, apart from a battered old revolver contained within a glass case set into the back wall, the only things that looked much like guns were a few spear-guns of different sizes.

There was probably a story there, but there was no denying that Harry's respect for Batman's physical capabilities went up significantly. Eschewing firearms, for whatever reason, was probably not the pragmatic choice, but it spoke to just how competent a combatant he must have been.

He found Batman standing at a desk on one side of the room and sorting through a number of little devices of various kinds. Their purposes, whatever they were, were not clear in their appearance. Muggle gadgets.

"I'll make you an escape portkey," said Harry as he walked over to the man. His approach garnered no reaction as the man continued setting various things into his belt of pouches. "It's a kind of two-way teleport. Activated by a word."

"Not here," said Batman firmly.

"It would be easiest—"

"Not here." Batman's tone brooked no argument. "If it gets lost, I can't have the security of the Cave compromised. Same for the others."

Harry hadn't said he was going to make any additional portkeys.

"We should carry four extras each," said Batman, seemingly reading his mind. "One for each potential hostage, plus one extra. They can be activated remotely?"

"Yes," said Harry after taking a moment to catch up. "Drop it on a person and say the activation phrase and they'll be transported to the destination."

"Duration of travel?"

"It's not instantaneous, if that's what you're asking," said Harry, lifting up a small penny-sized disc with a bat logo embossed on one side. "It takes maybe a couple of seconds to reach the destination. What's this?"

"Tracker. What other tricks do you have?" Batman had finished picking up the equipment he wanted and had turned to Harry.

"Not much else that you can use," he said. He had a few other bits and pieces stashed away in pockets, but nothing that Batman could use. A broom wasn't much use to a muggle, nor a magical mirror. Harry remembered that he still hadn't sent the Tentacula back to Padma. That definitely wouldn't do Batman any good. Perhaps there were some spells he could apply instead.

"Then make another portkey," said Batman, cutting through Harry's thoughts. "Do you have a way of safely containing another magic user?"

That, sadly, wasn't a simple ask. "If they have their wand on them? No, not really," said Harry before explaining further. "First, portkeys are just one way we can get around, apparation works too but is more limited in range and destination. There's also runic teleportation which doesn't have the range problem, but which takes a few seconds to perform. Second, any area which a portkey could deposit a person can be left just as easily. There's no way to allow entry but not exit."

"What's the range limitation?" Batman asked immediately.

"On apparation? Depends on the wizard," said Harry. "I think the average is about two-hundred miles, and it tops out at around a thousand."

Batman looked thoughtful. "Can you make a portkey to Antarctica?"

"Antarctica?" Harry realised he probably sounded a little stupid. He gave the request some thought and realised what Batman was getting at. "You mean to get us a few seconds respite? Send them somewhere they can't get back from instantly. Those seconds could give us time to set up a trap."

A curt nod was all Batman offered in response. A slow grin spread across Harry's features. "That could work." He'd got the drop on Neville after an apparation in their first fight, perhaps he could pull it off a second time.

"Next, ingress," said Batman, seemingly satisfied with that conclusion. "How?"

"The place will be protected," said Harry, already having given it some thought. "Whatever it is, it looks like some kind of prepared safe-house. The chances of either of us being able to get in without alerting them is minimal. Our best chance would be for me to overpower the charms, but that will immediately tell them that I'm there. What it does get us though, is that they won't necessarily know that you're there too."

"I'm better bait," said Batman. "My ability to combat magic is limited without more information or time to develop contingencies."

Harry shook his head. He realised he hadn't explained the possibilities offered by normal spells. "Not that limited. There's a few charms I could apply to you that would probably help you out."

Batman didn't respond, but the silence seemed to communicate a cautious interest in the idea.

"I can charm your suit to be weightless and unbreakable, for example," Harry suggested.

Batman continued tapping away at the buttons of a little device, but it was obvious he was thinking about it.

"Protecting you against magic is a bit more difficult, but there's a shield charm that would at least offer some protection from minor spells." It was a modification of the spell originally developed by the Weasley twins, but they'd never been able to get it to stand up to anything more dangerous than minor hexes.

"Are we likely to see any 'minor spells'?" Batman asked, after a moment's contemplation.

Harry had to admit he had a point. Neville hadn't exactly been throwing around school-yard jinxes when they'd last fought. "Probably not, no."

"Then no magic," said Batman.

That caused Harry to blink in surprise. "What about the rest?"

"No." His tone brooked no argument. "Changing my weight would throw off my balance. Making the suit unbreakable could compromise shock absorption. No magic."

"I guess you know your equipment best," said Harry more than a little reluctantly. "Regardless, though, you already have the tools you need to take them down. Hit them hard and fast, like you did at the Asylum. Don't give them space. Don't give them time. Shock and awe works as well on wizards as it does on everyone else."

"Still too many variables," said Batman, still sounding unhappy with the idea. "Layout is unknown, disposition of prisoners and kidnappers is unknown. Is Constantine a participant, or a victim?"

"Those are all things I can get you," said Harry, realising Batman had a point. It was a pity he'd given his only spare mirror to Zatanna, and that it had recently been shattered. "Do you have any cameras I could carry on me? When I go in, I'll try and get you as much information as I can. Then, when I give you the signal, you'll come in guns blazing and get me my spare wand. Cause as much chaos and confusion as you can manage. Then we'll get Zatanna free and take them down together."

"That could work," said Batman thoughtfully. He was quiet for a few seconds before he nodded firmly. He fished a tiny little glossy button from one of his pouches and stuck it to Harry's coat. He glanced at a clock on the far wall.

"It's sundown."


	16. Chapter 16

The two men appeared with the quietest pop Harry could manage. To Batman's great credit he gave no outward indication that the experience of apparation was anything less than perfectly comfortable. Harry knew, of course, that it was quite the opposite, especially for a muggle who had never experienced it before. That the man wasn't hunched over and spilling his guts out was a minor miracle in self-control.

"Unpleasant," was all he said, through a clenched jaw.

They had arrived atop the apartment building opposite the one they believed housed Zatanna and her kidnapper. Now that they were able to see it from the front, Harry realised that it was actually a couple of floors shorter than the surrounding buildings. That certainly hinted at how the safe-house had been concealed.

Without any further words, Batman fired his grappling gun at the roof of the building next door to their target and disappeared almost silently. Only the merest whisper from his cloak announced his departure.

Harry would soon be heralding his own presence with no small amount of flash. It wouldn't do for the Dark Knight of Gotham to be caught up in it. He needed to remain a secret if their plan was to work.

He started with some simple detection spells. The building positively glowed with all the magic that overlaid it. Fire suppression, unbreakability, undetectable extension, and concealment charms were all as expected. What was less expected was the addition of both cooling and warming charms, woven together to produce a comfortable indoor temperature all year round. He was even able to see a few minor charms, like food preservation and other run-of-the-mill household charms.

It looked more like it was an actual apartment, rather than a purpose-made safe-house. He felt a flicker of unease. There was no way Neville could have had time to set something like that up, and even if he did he surely would have opted for much more defensive spells.

It suggested that there was something Harry was missing, an unaccounted variable. He had to keep that in mind.

The charms were laid most heavily between the second and third floors. That meant it was almost certainly a concealed floor. He'd have to break the concealment if Batman was to be able to make his entrance.

Without breaking the concealment, he couldn't check how many people might be present, so that really gave him two options. Go in blind, but with Batman at his back as they had planned, or go in slow through the front door and potentially leave Batman stuck outside.

Blind and loud it was, then. At least that put surprise on his side.

He gathered his power and, for the first time in what felt like years, really let loose. It didn't feel exactly like it had for that brief time he had held the Elder Wand, as the power of that wand was something else entirely, but the sensation wasn't so far off. Magic swirled around him, an invisible breeze that snatched playfully at the hem of his coat and flicked his hair. Whatever he might say, he really did miss getting out into the field. He leveled his wand at the apartment block.

" _Leporecanto_!"

The spell surged from his wand in an incandescent beam and struck the building just above one of the second-floor windows. Instantly, its effects became visible. In an impossible, Escheresque motion, bricks folded out of the spaces between other bricks then windows unfurled, until two entire floors which had not previously been visible were revealed. At the same time, the charms protecting the building against all manner of harm quietly collapsed in on themselves, and evaporated to nothing.

The protections dropped with much greater ease than he'd expected. The uneasy feeling grew. It looked increasingly like he might be walking into an intentional trap. He didn't see any reasonable alternatives, however. He'd just have to be careful, and hope that Batman would be able to get them the edge they needed.

He sighted Zatanna's shocked face in one of the revealed windows. Clearly she'd felt the removal of the protection charms, and if she had felt it it was certain the one who'd set them up would have felt it too. He had to move quickly. He fished around in one of his pockets until he found the Weasley fireworks, and the glasses-and-earmuff combo which would block their effects. He made a mental note to pick up some more when he got back. Maybe that would be a more interesting way of getting Daphne out of his hair.

A quick tap of his wand saw the fireworks lit. He had just a few seconds to make his entrance. He jumped from the roof and, even before he had started falling, his body had taken on his Merlin form. With a powerful beat of his wings he propelled himself towards the window.

Moments before he hit, he transformed back into his human form. The window shattered instantly, sending shards of glass exploding across the room. He pulled his body into a roll, and his wand was up and ready even before he had stopped moving.

Not a second too soon, he threw the primed firework across the room to where a surprised Neville was turning, all too slowly, attempting to bring his wand to bear. No doubt, he'd expected the momentary respite of apparation. Harry's far more impressive entrance had left him wrong footed, which was exactly the purpose.

Just as Neville located him, the firework went off. Four huge beasts: a great eagle, a gigantic lion, a colossal snake and an amusingly small and unassuming badger erupted into the room. Each was composed entirely of fire and flashing scintillations which left scorch-marks on every surface. Usually, the fireworks were meant to be released in a large open area. Within the confined flat, they wreaked havoc.

They leapt, bounced, and flew about the room at a pace almost too fast to follow. They were little more than a child's toy, and couldn't really hurt anyone, but that was easy to forget when they were leaving patches or singed carpet and charred furniture in their wake. The entire flat was filled with their whistle and pop, punctuated by the occasional ear-splitting crack.

Thanks to his glasses and bright red earmuffs Harry was completely unaffected by the mayhem. Within moments of setting the fireworks off, he followed them up with a stunning spell which splashed unexpectedly against an already cast shield charm. That was the problem with taking the loud way in, it had given Neville time to prepare, even if it had only been seconds.

Unfortunately for Neville, he no longer held the Book, and as a result he'd had to resort to ordinary shield charms. Those were much easier to deal with. A narrow beam of iridescent light shot from Harry's wand, piercing straight through the shield, which collapsed into a million prismatic shards.

Neville didn't even notice. Instead, he was more worried about the fiery badger rapidly bearing down upon him, fizzing and crackling angrily. " _Finite!_ " he cried, brandishing his wand desperately. In his panic, it seemed he had forgotten the lesson Madam Umbridge had learned long ago when faced with a Weasley creation.

They never went quietly. Instead, fireworks continued its charge, even as the spells holding it together were unravelled. As they weakened, the creature grew and morphed until they finally gave way. It exploded in Neville's face.

Had it been anything more dangerous than a prank item meant to cause confusion and discord, he surely would have been badly burned. Instead, he was left with his face blackened by soot, and surrounded by a hundred shimmering pixies. They glittered and danced, and a few made rude gestures, before they eventually faded to nothing.

The glow had not even faded when Harry followed up with a much more impactful spell. The floor beneath Neville's feet exploded outwards, sending him head-first into the ceiling above, before he fell back to the ground in a groaning heap.

Harry's next spell, a silently cast stunning spell, put him temporarily out of his misery. Some of his more aggressively inclined aurors might have used something more permanent, but Harry seldom saw the point of causing unneeded injury. If he _could_ take his foes down without resorting to excessive violence, then he did. Besides, that had been much easier than he'd expected.

He quickly located Zatanna. She was tied up in some kind of charmed rope that was evidently protected against magic, but otherwise looked mostly uninjured. Behind her, bound by the same rope, was Constantine. It was easy to see that Constantine hadn't had a good time of it during his captivity. His coat was gone, he had a black-eye, and numerous cuts and bruises on his face.

There were still three more fireworks bounding about the room, and both Zatanna and Constantine looked as if they were nearly as bad off as Neville as a result. Harry was about to cast the overly complicated cancellation spell when a second man stepped into the room.

It was President Quahog, though he did not carry himself like the man Harry knew. For some reason, he was also wearing Constantine's coat.

"What the fu—" he said when confronted with the scene of absolute bedlam. Neville was unconscious on the floor, beside a large crater. The walls were covered in soot and blast marks from the fireworks, and the air was filled with fiery sparks in every colour.

Despite all that, he reacted just as quickly as Harry. He thrust out an empty hand, and Harry's next stunning spell was thrown off target to splash uselessly against a soot-covered wall. He started chanting in a language Harry couldn't recognise, and soon he was surrounded in a cloak of power.

In an attempt to halt whatever the spell was that Quahog was casting, Harry cast the most powerful silencing spell he could manage, rendering the entire room completely mute. It did nothing to halt the spell, however, and Harry soon found himself being pulled to the ground by dozens of grasping hands.

Skeletal, clawed, misshapen, or merely pale as the grave, they all had an inhuman strength, and Harry found himself helpless against it. As he was being dragged down, he saw that Quahog was still chanting, his mouth forming words that were lost into the silence. In desperation, he directed the remaining firework creatures towards the man.

They each exploded in their own unique ways. Though they could not hurt him, they did just enough to disrupt the spell. The arm which had been tightening around Harry's neck: red, with wicked claws and jutting spurs, evaporated. He was left gasping for air, but he was freed.

He couldn't rest, though. A huge, humanoid figure with deep crimson skin and a fiery mantle clawed itself out of the ground before him. He immediately recognised the owner of the arm that had been trying to strangle him. Not for the first time, Harry reflected that he really did hate occultists. Who thought summoning literal demons, even minor ones, was a good idea in any situation? There were far less flashy ways of strangling a man, and they typically didn't have a chance of accidentally setting a demon on the world. There was no way that the new arrival was really Quahog.

The demon was already advancing on him, and Harry knew he had to act quickly. The ritual circle which surrounded them both, conjured by whoever it was that was wearing Quahog's face, was rapidly fading after his concentration had been broken. Instead of attacking the demon, which may have worked, but would have been very messy, Harry instead poured his own power into the circle. Without the impostor's active attempts to maintain it, it would soon disappear, and the demon would be left completely unfettered.

The demon flared with rage when it realised what Harry was doing. It swiped at Harry, who could do little more than apparate away, out of the circle. His act of pouring power into the runes, combined with the power he intentionally put into the apparition completely overpowered the circle. It flashed a searing white, and imploded, banishing the demon to whatever plane of hell it called home.

Harry quickly conjured the strongest shield he could manage to protect both himself and the two behind him. He felt the bounce-back from the implosion pulse through the floor, but his shield held easily.

All through Harry's fight with the escaped demon, even dazed by the many explosions the impostor had still managed to revive Neville.

That would be an inconvenience.

Once he'd regained his feet, Neville joined the fight even before the smoke had cleared. He sent a writhing mass of conjured ropes across the room, and they left behind long tendrils as they passed through the blast remnants. The silencing spell made the whole thing feel almost dream-like, but it had at least disrupted Neville's control of the spell. The ordinarily precisely controlled ropes were so snarled-up that even had they hit, they surely could not have done much more than entangle him. That was still something Harry needed to avoid.

Two against one was rarely a good idea, especially when one of the enemies was an unknown, and definitely not pulling their punches. Perhaps out in the open he could have fought them both off, but in the confined space of the flat, and with Zatanna and Constantine to protect, he was quickly running out of options.

Harry cast a silent levicorpus on himself which immediately yanked him high into the air by his ankles, leaving the poorly conjured ropes to fly by, harmless, beneath him. Next he cast a powerful silver shield between himself and the two kidnappers.

A sizzling blast of raw magic, sent at him by the impostor, hit the shield even as it formed. While the silencing charm was still in effect, and there was no sound, Harry could still feel the reverberations produced by the resulting burst.

In an attempt to retake the initiative, Harry cast an animation charm on the floorboards beneath Neville's feet. They sprung up in the blink of an eye, sending him tumbling to the ground. As he fell, one of them hit him firmly in the family jewels, and despite the surreal silence, Harry would have sworn he could hear the meaty crunch it should have produced.

Neville was unlikely to be getting up any time soon, and Harry had learned his lesson. A hasty summoning charm saw his wand yanked from where it had been dropped to fly across the room. Before Harry could catch it the impostor cast some spell that sent a burning pentagram floating across the room towards him and he was forced to dive out of the way. The wand flew by to land on the floor at the feet of the two hostages.

The pentagram was not done, though. It smoothly tracked Harry's attempt to avoid it, changing direction fluidly in mid-air. His attempt at dodging thwarted, it soon reached him. Unexpectedly, it simply flew through him with little more than a mild burning sensation, but once he found himself in its centre, its real purpose became clear. Five more pentagrams flared into existence, each with Harry at its focus, and each hovering at a different height around his body. Then they began to constrict and the pain really started.

He shouted out in mixed surprise and anger, though it could not be heard. In desperation, he was able to cast one spell despite the rapidly mounting pain, and its effects were as immediate as they were welcome. A thin section of the ceiling was transfigured into icy-cold water which deluged the pentagram trap, instantly quenching their flames. The pressure, and the burning pain along with it, was released.

Harry swirled his wand and the remaining water rose back into the air before freezing into more than a dozen wickedly pointed icicles which he sent towards the unknown impostor with blinding speed.

Dull red flames sprung up about the impostor's feet, tracing a figure of eight around his feet. As the icicles closed in, the figure split, and it leaped into the air in the form of a large horned serpent. It enveloped the icicles in its burning jaw and they sublimed to nothing in moments.

Able to see that water wouldn't work against the serpent, Harry instead elected to utilize another of the elements. With a vicious slash of his wand, he canceled the silencing spell. Usually, when such spells were canceled, the pent up noise was effectively banished to nothing. Not this time. Just as he completed the motion, he twisted his wand and thrust it at the impostor.

The result was a deafening explosion as the improperly canceled spell collapsed, releasing all the contained noise at once in the direction of the impostor and their serpent.

The rush of wind and sound was enough to be deafening even through Harry's charmed earmuffs, outside of the main path of the spell. He couldn't imagine what it would do to the impostor's unprotected ears.

The serpent was blasted to nothing, like a candle before a jet-engine.

The impostor was thrown against the still open door, ripping it from its hinges before ending up bonelessly slumped against the wall.

Sounds at last returned to normal, Harry twisted his wand and said, " _Revelio._ " The rotund figure of Quahog melted away to reveal that of another man whom Harry did not recognise. He was tall and slim, with dark hair and a handsome, if drawn, face. He couldn't have been more different from the man he'd been transfigured to appear as.

Despite the battering he must have taken, his eyes flashed open, and Harry saw that they were even colder than Neville's had ever been.

Zatanna gasped. "Nick!"

Upon hearing her shout, Harry couldn't stop the momentary flicker of attention.

That flicker, even while the man was knocked down, proved costly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large shape flying towards him. He tried to turn it aside with a hastily cast banisher, but it was too little too late. The room's heavy door, blown off by one of the many explosions, and thrown towards him by the newly revealed Nick, clipped his shoulder with enough force to send him tumbling to the ground. Before he could right himself, chains materialised from this air, glowing runes visible on every link, and within seconds Harry was completely immobilised.

He'd almost had them.

He was left lying on the ground for a few minutes as Neville and Nick tried to recover from his attacks, but soon he was propped up in a conjured chair next to Zatanna and Constantine.

Perhaps understandably, both Neville and Nick looked absolutely pissed.

"So, this might sound weird," said Harry in a deliberately casual tone. "But I thought you were dead."

Nick chuckled darkly. "That's what she said, is it? Perhaps that's easier to believe than the truth," said Nick, those dead eyes glancing at Zatanna and for a moment there was life in them. It was the life of a raging wildfire, or an enraged dragon, but it was still life. "No. They sent me to hell. Directly."

"You were going to do the same to John!" said Zatanna, tears glistening in her eyes. "It was your spell, you know it had to take someone."

"And so it took me," said Nick, and the rage that Harry had seen before was quenched again. "In a way, I am grateful to you, Zee. Escaping from Hell was a useful learning experience. Potter, here, has already seen some small part of what I learned, the allies I was able to gain."

He took a step towards Harry, and set a foot on Harry's chair, right between his legs. He put a gentle pressure on regions Harry would rather stayed uninvolved. "Now, I've grown quite patient over the years, but even I have reached my limit. Where is the Book?"

Harry frowned. He really should have left the book behind, or left it in a safe place, or sent it back to Padma for the Unspeakables to look at. Suddenly, he had an interesting idea.

"That's what this is all for, a book?" said Harry. He knew he needed to get them to let their guard down a bit if Batman was to make his best impact. "It was nice, and all, but I'm not sure it's worth all this."

"All, no, not all," said Nick, leaning forward until Harry could feel a very pronounced pressure on his nether regions. "But it is the final piece of the puzzle, if you will. The last piece I need to make right everything your two friends have done to me."

"Uh, Constantine isn't my friend." Harry felt that was an important clarification to make.

At least Constantine found some amusement in that, if his sardonic grunt was anything to go by. Nick, however, did not appreciate the correction. Harry grit his teeth as he leaned forward more, his face was barely an inch from Harry's own.

"Where's the Book?" he asked menacingly.

"Why would I bring it with me?" said Harry. Maybe he could play himself off as more foresighted than he apparently was. "It's meant to be bloody dangerous."

That earned him some real pain when Nick gave up on pretense and pressed down viciously with the foot that was occupying so much of Harry's attention. Harry tried to double over, but Nick put a stop to that with a brutal punch to his left temple that threw Harry and the chair both to the floor.

"Bottom-left inside pocket," Harry said through his clenched jaw.

"Harry, n—" Zatanna tried to stop him, but was too late.

"Thank you," said Nick almost pleasantly, as he simultaneously sent a deep purple spell at Zatanna, which snapped her head back as if she'd been punched. He looked at Neville. "Get it."

To his credit, Neville looked a little unsure as he moved to comply. Perhaps there was still something of his friend in there.

Or maybe he was just worried that Harry was going to hit him in the gonads again.

He reached into the pocket in question, fishing around a bit. He was almost up to his elbow when he frowned. "What's th—" his eyes widened. "—Oh no."

No sooner had he spoken the words, than he jumped back from Harry as if burned. He hadn't been burned, but his arm did have a very healthy and hungry Venemous Tentacula wrapped around it.

It had only been a few days, but the modified tentacula had been able to grow rapidly in the darkness of Harry's voluminous coat pocket. When he'd picked it up, it had been barely clinging to life. Now, it was strong and healthy. And it was hungry. A few days without food would do that.

Neville was an accomplished Herbologist, and probably one of the most knowledgeable wizards in the world on the subject of magical flora, but a hungry Venemous Tentacula was a hungry Venemous Tentacula. Flailing tentacles quickly wrapped around his other arm, and one of his legs. The poisonous barbs dug deeply into his skin and injected the bizarre combination of Dream Grass flux and ordinary Tentacula venom into his system.

He swore loudly, and tried to pull the attacking plant off, but its grip only grew tighter. As the venom started to take effect, his struggles weakened, and his skin started to turn a curious shade of purple. He was lucky the Tentacula was still too small to actually eat him, despite its best efforts.

There would never be a better opportunity for Batman to make his entrance, and make an entrance he did.

All the lights in the room went out at the same moment, plunging everyone into a twilight lit only by the dim, flickering street-lights on the road outside. A heartbeat later, the ceiling collapsed into the room, and upon it rode a dark figure wreathed all in black.

He landed behind where Nick was standing, distracted by Neville's desperate struggles with the hungry tentacula. He had spun towards Harry when the lights had flicked off, obviously expecting some other trick. He was right to suspect a trick, but it didn't help him much. A black-gauntleted fist collided with the back of his head, throwing him to the ground. Next, the Dark Knight tossed Harry the wand that had dropped from Nick's hand.

A summoning charm saw the wand fly into his open hand with a slap, and no sooner did he feel its warmth, than the chains binding him dissolved into a cloud of floating embers. It took him just a moment to rise to his feet.

After returning Harry's wand, Batman kept up his attack. He sent a vicious kick into Nick's torso which sent him sliding over the floor, curled in on himself. Somehow, despite the pain, he found the presence of mind to fight back.

Small items from all around the room took flight and started dive-bombing Batman as he tried to re-approach. To his credit, he swatted them away with barely a break in his stride. He picked Nick up and threw him against the nearest wall, then followed up with another swift punch. Nick started to speak a spell, but Batman sprayed something into his face, and it ended instead in an enraged cry of pain.

Seeing that Batman had it well in hand, Harry turned his attention to Zatanna and Constantine, who were trying to free themselves from the charmed ropes. The charms surely made them resistant to magic, but the caster had seemingly not given the same consideration to their chairs. A powerful disintegration hex, carefully aimed between Constantine's legs, turned his chair to dust. It was soon followed by Zatanna's and they both landed on the floor, the ropes loose around them. Satisfied that they would be able to get free, he threw them both the escape portkeys he'd made up after talking tactics with Batman.

When he turned back, he was forced to jump aside as Batman flew by at head height, blasted back by some spell from Nick. It was lucky that he did, as Neville had also managed to burn the tentacula off, and had sent a powerful blasting curse at the ground on which Harry had been standing.

It looked like Batman would be down for a while, but that still made it three against two. This time, the numbers were on his side. Everyone was bruised and bloodied, but the battle did not slow down.

Harry jumped into the air, adopting his falcon form and beating his wings powerfully to gather speed. He flew straight at Neville's face with talons outstretched, causing Neville to try and protect himself with his forearm. The action merely gave Harry an easier target. He grabbed on to the arm, and near simultaneously returned to his human form.

His sudden additional weight and momentum allowed him to spin in mid-air, and throw Neville face-first into a wall. The unmistakable crack of a broken nose followed.

Harry hadn't even found his feet when the floor beneath him was transfigured into some kind of thick and gelatinous liquid. The hand he'd been using to push himself up was soon engulfed in it, along with much of his lower body.

Rescue came from Zatanna, who froze the liquid with a blast of cold air which left glittering icy crystals hovering in the air in its wake. He transformed again, the change in his size allowing him to free himself from the frozen substance, and he shot into the air.

The room was being rapidly destroyed by the magical battle that was being waged. Zatanna was trying to restrain Neville who was fighting back desperately, half blinded by the blood smeared across his face from his nose and barely able to stay upright thanks to the Tentacula venom.

In the middle of the room, Constantine and Nick were locked in a magical battle that was almost too fast to follow. Cursed flames, arcane symbols, cracks of lightning, and blasts of air and water were sent back and forth. Parry and riposte.

It looked like Constantine was getting the upper hand, though.

Then, Nick released a powerful explosion of light and sound that threw Constantine back. "No!" he shouted, his voice reverberating with unknowable power. "Not again, John. Not this time!"

"Nick!" said Zatanna, her voice desperate. "Please, stop this! Nothing is worth this."

"Listen to her Nick," said Constantine with uncharacteristic diplomacy as he slowly pushed himself back upright when he'd been thrown. "Just—"

"No!" said Nick again. He rose into the air, surrounded by warring light and dark light, a kaleidoscope of magic. "I have already paid the price, and now I want my due."

"That's not how it works," said Harry. He realised his voice was weak from exhaustion. "Suffering does not entitle us to anything more than painful memories. You cannot buy yourself a better future with the misery of your past."

"Then I will pay for my better future with something else," said Nick. He whipped Quahog's chain of office from around his neck and held it at arm's length. "Give me the book, or you all will die."

Harry remembered what Quahog, or Nick, had said about it. It would explode if someone other than the President tried to wear it. Somehow, he'd managed to find some way around it. A powerful stasis charm, perhaps? It didn't matter. In that moment, the 'how' was vanishingly unimportant.

"The blast would kill you too," said Harry. As far as he was aware, it was also likely that the entire building would be destroyed too.

"Would it?" said Nick, before he gave an unhinged giggle. "You're in my flat, and I planned for this. For all of this!"

He waved his free hand, and moments later, every surface lit up with previously hidden runes. Runes of protection; runes of sacrifice. Harry realised the reason the other protections had been so weak, they'd really been little more than a distraction.

"You think all this happened merely by chance? I knew the book had been found. I could feel its influence in the world. I learned what I'd gotten wrong the first time. Sacrifice. Only through the sacrifice of others can the powers of the book be truly unbound." He glared at Zatanna and Constantine. "What luck, then, that I had two perfect sacrifices in mind. Three birds, one stone."

"The runes will use our life force to protect him from magical influence," said Constantine in a whisper barely loud enough for Harry to hear. "If that necklace of his is meant to kill us all, the runes will protect him by sacrificing our lives first."

"Always so smart, John. Always so quick," said Nick with a chastising shake of the head. "Always so short sighted. Even before you knew there was going to be a fight, I had already won. Now, give me the book."

"Fortunately for everyone here, it's not Constantine you need to convince," said Harry, stepping between the two. The power still rolling off Nick was nearly smothering, and meeting his eyes was like trying to look directly at the sun. "I'm the one with the book. So lets make a deal. No-one needs to die."

Nick started laughing again. "Oh, you really are a fool. Do you think I believe you would give up so easily?" he asked. "Your friend told me all about you. I couldn't believe my luck when he came to me, asking for help with those gangsters. He was quite the font of information, you know. I almost feel like I know you better than you know yourself. You're stalling, but to what purpose, I wonder? Perhaps you think that your little show before will bring your pathetic aurors running. They won't."

The certainty in that proclamation was worrying. "What have you done?"

"They have more immediate problems." He sounded smugly satisfied. It was a good thing, then, that Harry wasn't reliant on the cavalry sweeping in to save the day. If Carruthers and his merry band of goons could be counted as the cavalry.

Batman groaned and pushed himself up. He'd ended up buried under a set of drawers and a small table, but he was soon able to shift them.

"It's pathetic, really," said Nick, glancing at him. "So hard up that you needed to ask a no-maj for help? I'd heard such great things about you, Potter. That idiot Quahog did nothing but sing your praises. Neville did too. To think I was actually worried you might put a wrench in my plans…"

"How did you do that?" said Harry. He caught Batman's eye, and the man returned the slightest of nods. "The chain of office, the detection charm, they should have known you weren't Quahog. How hasn't it blown you sky-high already?"

"They were as short sighted as you," said Nick. Their back and forth was perhaps finally calming him down. At the very least the aura of palpable magic surrounding him was weakening. "All those defensive measures, but all I needed to do was cast a stasis spell on the chain. Once I did that, I had control of MACUSA's defensive measures. I simply reworked their pitifully simple spells to exclude me from their checks."

That meant, if they could separate him from the chain, he'd be out of options. He was powerful, of that there could be no doubt, but with all four of them, it would only be a matter of time before he was bested, and he would know that. The fact that it was under stasis meant that they should be able to handle it safely.

Constantine had other ideas.

He started to mutter some kind of chant under his breath, and familiar transportation runes appeared burning upon the floor around both him and Zatanna.

She turned and started to speak, "No, John, don't—"

" _Tilleadh gu ám_ ," said Constantine, the power behind his words cutting off her protests.

The incantation was not something Harry was familiar with, but the effects were obvious. The stasis charm unravelled, and Nick's eyes went wide. He immediately started chanting a spell of his own, but it wouldn't be enough. In his hand the MACUSA chain of office became white-hot, and the sickly stench of burning flesh began to fill the room.

Constantine gripped Zatanna's shoulder, and with his other hand formed the runes for a translocation spell. Zatanna tried to shake him off when she realised what he was doing, but his grip was too strong, and they were already beginning to fade as Constantine completed the spell.

Despite the pain, Nick refused to allow their escape. Instead his other hand came up and he clenched a fist in the direction of Zatanna and Constantine even as the runes flashed with power. "You will not escape this!" he said, his eyes glowing with barely contained magic as he split his attention and blocked the translocation spell. "Accept your fate John, as I do, mine!"

Powerful as he clearly was, there was no way he could contain the power of the chain for long, especially not while he was also directly inhibiting the translocation spell. It would blow them all up in a matter of seconds.

"Ace," said Batman and, quite suddenly, Nick disappeared with the whoosh of a departing portkey. Somehow, at some point in the fight, Batman must have planted the Antarctica portkey on the man.

There was a long silent moment as everyone came to terms what had just happened. There was almost no chance that Nick had survived. The disorientation caused by the unexpected portkey activation would surely see him lose control of the charmed chain.

The first to react was Zatanna, who turned around and shoved Constantine hard enough that his head smacked against the wall behind him with a painful-sounding crack.

She held him in place and shouted straight into his face, "What the fuck, John! Were you trying to kill us?"

"Nick wouldn't have been able to hold us long," said Constantine. He tried to retain his cool but it seemed that Zatanna was one of the few people in the world who could actually get under his skin. "I knew Potter would have made up some portkeys."

"Yeah, for me and Batman," said Harry. Did he really not get it? "And even then, it's even odds at best if we could have gotten out before that thing blew if Nick hadn't delayed it. Besides, what about Neville? Or the rest of the people in the block?"

Zatanna glared at her definitely ex-boyfriend with a look of mixed disappointment and betrayal. Constantine tried to reclaim his usual air but wilted beneath her stare.

"Look, Zee, I didn't think there was any other way." He clearly didn't think his hand-wringing apologies would get him much ground with Harry or Batman, so he focused instead on Zatanna.

She scoffed. "But there was! Harry and Br—Batman had a plan. But you just had to throw your weight around didn't you?" She turned to Harry. "Where did he end up, anyway?"

"Antarctica," said Batman brusquely. He walked over to one of the blown-out windows. "I'm done here."

"Wait," said Harry quickly, before the man could disappear into the night. Amazingly he did indeed wait. Harry hunted through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. It looked like a simple business card. It had just one word on it in gold leaf, 'Potter'. "I owe you one. If you ever need to cash it in. Tap the card and say 'Batman'. It'll tell you where I can be found, and let me know you're looking."

Batman caught the card when Harry flicked it across the room with the help of a little bit of magic, he glanced at it for a moment before slipping it into one of the pouches on his belt. He didn't say anything, but he did give a restrained nod. He turned to Constantine. "Stay out of Gotham," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Then, he was gone with not even the rustling of his cloak to mark his passage.

"I did the right thing," said Constantine, having apparently regained his equilibrium. "Your portkey wouldn't have stopped him."

"Well, that's the thing isn't it?" said Harry, thoroughly tired of dealing with the man. "We'll never know. There's no do-overs when you get blown up mid-portkey and scattered over a thousand square miles of snow and ice. All we do know is that we could have gotten away safely, with no-one else dying, but apparently that wasn't good enough for you."

"That wouldn't have been the end of it," said Constantine. "You know that. You know—"

"You know what?" said Harry, cutting him off. "I'm done here." He turned to where Neville was still unconscious and levitated him onto his shoulder. "I have an old friend to try and help. You tell yourself whatever makes you feel better, but you'd best watch your back if you so much as set a toe in the UK. If you come back, I'll have my guys all over you like a bad smell."

Then he turned to Zatanna. "Want to give me a ride back to the hotel?"

She looked away from Constantine, and towards Harry. She donned a somewhat strained smile. "Sure, don't want you messing up Neville's head even more with that horrible apparation you do."

Constantine stayed quiet. He didn't look angry, or indignant. He just shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked at Zatanna sadly as they both disappeared.


	17. Chapter 17

"Neville's portkey arrived in the international arrival area as expected," said Padma. "We've moved him to holding for the time being, until we can get some specialists in to see him. I'm holding the greycloaks up in form-filling until you can get back."

"Thanks Padma," said Harry gratefully. "And thanks for sending that replacement mirror along. You're a champion."

He was sitting on the balcony of his hotel room, finally taking the opportunity to enjoy a little of the early morning sun. The events of the evening had left Zatanna emotionally exhausted, and she had returned home as soon as she had deposited Harry and Neville at his hotel room. Despite all the action the night before, he hadn't been able to sleep, and so he opted instead to sit out and watch the sun rise. It all seemed so strange. After everything that had happened, it almost felt like an insult that the streets below sounded just as busy and full of life as always.

"When do you think you'll be back?" she asked, watching him closely. It was the middle of the afternoon back in London, but despite the amount of work surely on her plate, Padma had raised no complaint. "It's not like you really got any kind of a holiday out of all this."

"As soon as humanly possible," said Harry, though he knew that was a lie. He could have returned home with Neville the previous night. "I've had enough of this bloody city."

Padma looked like she didn't really believe him. She did know him well after-all. "Neville said the same thing, but he also said that Gotham was a hard habit to kick."

That wasn't what it was. "This whole thing just has me tired," he said slowly. "At first it was almost fun, you know? I know I shouldn't say that being driven off bridges by suicidal maniacs is fun, but you know how boring the office work can get."

"I happen to quite enjoy the office work," said Padma, a prim smile on her face. "It's weirdos like you that seem to enjoy the spellfire. I'm sure that woman, Zatanna didn't hurt the… attraction of the whole thing."

"Yeah, sure," said Harry, really not in the mood for her friendly needling. "Look, I'll be back later today. I just need to check in with a couple of people before I go."

"Uh huh." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Well you have fun doing that then, or should I sa—"

Harry cut her off. "Bye, Padma."

The last thing he saw before her face faded out of sight was her look of disappointment, possibly tinged with concern. He wasn't sure if her worry was as a result of his determination to return, or despite it. He really didn't understand why some of his friends had become so invested in his personal life.

He sat for a few minutes longer, just appreciating the simple fact that for a few hours a least, there was nowhere he needed to be. He was broken from his dozing by the alerting charms he'd placed on the door to his suite. Probably Zatanna, he decided. Rather than get up, he simply shouted through, "Come on in!"

It wasn't Zatanna. Instead Harry was surprised to hear Winston Carruthers' thick southern drawl. "Where you at, son?" Unusually, there was no note of barely restrained frustration or clear dismissal.

"I'm on the balcony!" Harry called back, not bothering to get up to greet the man. If Carruthers had come out to Gotham to see him, and wasn't spitting mad, it had to be something big, and he really didn't have the energy for big.

A few seconds later, Carruthers stepped out onto the balcony and walked over to where Harry was seated. He leaned up against the balustrade and stared out at the city silently.

While he'd been able to enjoy the busy silence when he'd been alone, Carruthers' presence was like an itch that needed scratching. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Harry asked eventually.

"John Constantine turned up late last night," said Carruthers, still looking away. "Had President Quahog with him and singing his praises."

He'd let himself forget about Quahog. It stood to reason that Nick had kept him around. He'd probably been somewhere else in the flat. He didn't let his surprise show, however. "Is that so?" he said blandly.

"Apparently he wasn't missing at all, just a little charms accident that your boy helped him with," said Carruthers, still looking out over the city.

"Good for him," said Harry. Obviously Quahog didn't want to appear weak by admitting to the abduction and impersonation.

They lapsed back into silence for a few minutes, both listening to the distant sounds of Gotham life.

After a little while, Carruthers glanced over. "You find your boy?"

"Yep," said Harry. "Asked him nicely to head home. People worrying about him and such." He wasn't about to admit to anything more.

"I'm sure they were," said Carruthers before laughing dryly. "So I guess you didn't have anything to do with that mess over in the Heights?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Harry evenly.

"Figured," said Carruthers and bizarrely, he actually sounded satisfied with that result. "Big damn mess too, and the President wants it handled all quiet like. Wants me to throw the book at whoever it was for breaching the Statute of Secrecy. Probably just some drunk assholes setting off magical fireworks and having a falling out. Doubt we'll ever clear that up."

"Well, I'm certainly glad I wasn't there," said Harry, not really bothering to try and make it sound convincing. He knew every step of the dance Carruthers was performing. "Wouldn't want to be caught up in something like that."

Carruthers hummed in agreement. "Figured a smart dick like you wouldn't go making a mess like that. Strange thing, though, how the kid that owned the flat was meant to have disappeared a couple'a years ago. Nick Nolan, old friend of your boy's. Ain't it a small world?"

"Isn't it only," said Harry. "I wonder what happened to him."

"Well that's the thing, see," said Carruthers, leaning forwards a little. "Got word this morning that he was involved in some kinda splinching accident over in Antarctica. Messy, very messy. Seems he tried to steal the presidential chain and hopped a portkey."

"And Quahog didn't notice it had been stolen?"

"Oh, he insists it wasn't," said Carruthers, his level tone elegantly communicating his belief in that particular story. "Obviously must be a fake. Very convincing though."

Obviously Carruthers was fishing for the real story, only without wanting to ask anything potentially incriminating. "Sounds like he was up to no good then," Harry said, deciding to throw the man a bone. "Can't imagine there's many legitimate uses for an exploding presidential chain of office. Maybe in their fight he tried to threaten his friend with it, and his friend set it off while doing a runner?"

Carruthers nodded, and looked satisfied by Harry's non-confirmation. "Must'a been it," he said, nodding.

He pushed himself back upright, and was about to apparate away when he paused for a moment. "Oh, and I found this at the apartment too." He pulled out a singed pair of earmuffs with the still-visible bright-orange logo of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes stitched into them. "Maybe you can track down their rightful owner. Might want them for questioning if you do."

Harry took them and stowed them safely away in a pocket. "Might be hard, they're a popular item."

Carruthers slapped him on the back. "Well, see what you can manage. Investigations like this one tend to go pretty slow. Now you take care, y'hear?"

"Will do," said Harry. Maybe he was even being honest. "Oh, and director? Keep an eye on Constantine for me. I wouldn't trust him as far as I can throw him."

"Oh, I have my eye on him already," said Carruthers with a grin. "If he thinks he can scoot through our laws like he did yours, he's in for one hell of a rude awakening."

Then, with that, he disapparated with a crack.

That was possibly the least confrontational conversation Harry had ever had with the man, and he came out of it feeling like he somehow owed him something. It wasn't hard to see that Carruthers thought that protecting him from Quahog's attempted cover-up was a favor he could call in later.

If he was being honest with himself, if keeping Carruthers happy meant it kept Constantine out of his country, that was a debt Harry would be willing to honour.

He stood and stretched. While his bumps, scrapes and bruises had all been healed quickly enough, he was still stiff after the previous few days of little sleep and constant activity. He'd need a holiday to recover from his holiday. A couple of his joints made satisfying little clicking noises, and he sighed in momentary relief.

There was still one more good-bye to do, and it was one he'd been putting off for more than an hour. With a quiet pop, he apparated to the Illusionist Bar.

He arrived in the alleyway he previously used for his quick clothes-change the night he'd met Zatanna. Once again, it was quiet and empty, though the sounds of the bustling city were never far away. He made his way out onto the street, and from there to the door of the bar.

He tapped the door with his wand as subtly as he could manage, relying on the protection charms layered over it to inform Zatanna of his presence. Shortly, the door swung open and he stepped through.

She was sitting on the edge of the little pool of light around the main stage and he noted she was looking much recovered from the trials of the previous night. Her various cuts and bruises were gone, her complexion once again flawless.

"Hey," said Harry as he sat down, not sure where to start attempting to address the huge mess that was the last couple of days. "How're you holding up?"

"Hey," she said, sounding as uncertain as he felt. "I'm not sure. Is it possible to be holding up too well?"

"Ha." He'd sometimes wondered that himself. "Maybe. I guess it depends on what you do feel and why."

"I should be pissed," said Zatanna as she continued to stare into space. Harry wasn't really sure she'd even heard him. "I mean, John could have killed you. He could have killed Bruce, he could have killed me too, and all because of his damn ego."

She looked at him at last. "But I'm not. I'm not even really disappointed. It's like I expected him to do something like that. Isn't that terrible?"

"Having faith in people is all well and good," said Harry, understanding what it was she was asking, "but it can't be blind. There's only so many times you can forgive someone for the same thing before it becomes meaningless."

She thought that over for a while before nodding reluctantly. "I suppose you have a point there. But then, I should be feeling happy. Nick didn't spend an eternity in Hell." She paused. "Or should I be sad that he's dead?"

"Both, I think," said Harry. "There's no reason you need to choose just one thing to feel. You can mourn the man you once knew, and still feel relieved that someone else took down the man he became. It doesn't have to be either or."

"It's just…" she trailed off. "It's a lot to take in. Me and Nick were together for a while, you know? And all this time I thought I'd sentenced him to a fate worse than death. Then, out of nowhere, he's back, and before I can even get my head around that, he's dead again. I think I've just been left behind a bit. I don't know which part I should try and deal with first out of everything that happened."

Harry was pretty sure he'd hit his limit on sage wisdom, mostly regurgitating things other people had said to him over the years. "You'll figure it out, Zee," he said. "It's not something I can help with, and to be honest if I was in your position right now I'm not sure I'd want someone sitting in my place telling you what you should or shouldn't feel or do. Hell, back in the good old days I would have just blown up in someone's face. You're already doing far better than I ever did."

"Thanks, Harry," she said with a little smile. He was quite happy to chalk that up as a victory. "I think you're right. I'll just have to try and catch up to everything that's happened."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Eventually, Zatanna turned to him and spoke. "So what happens now?"

"Now? Well, I guess I go home," said Harry after a moment's thought. "I have a friend that needs help, and an entire department of recalcitrants to get back to work."

She looked away. "What about John?"

"He'll do whatever it is he always does I suppose," said Harry. "Apparently he has a new best friend in President Quahog, so I think he'll be making a move to the states on a more permanent basis." There was also the fact that Harry wouldn't let him have a moment's rest if he stepped foot in Britain again.

She frowned and glanced back across at him. "How did that happen?"

"Looks like Nick was holding Quahog too," said Harry. "It probably should have occurred to me, but to be honest I'd had quite enough shit by the end of it all. Constantine must have squirreled him out and freed him. Carruthers came around just before I came out here to warn me that Quahog's covering it up, so if anyone asks, you weren't there."

"That man," said Zatanna as she shook her head in either wonder or disgust. Harry wasn't sure which it was. "I have no idea how he manages to keep finding new friends just as quickly as he alienates them."

"Not sure I want to know," said Harry. Knowing Constantine it probably involved dark, forbidden occult rites that he'd somehow managed to stumble into entirely by accident.

They lapsed back into silence.

Harry wasn't sure what he thought he was waiting for. Was he trying to avoid heading home and seeing Neville, or heading home and leaving Gotham? A hard habit to kick indeed.

"Well," he said somewhat unnecessarily as he pushed himself back to his feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the replacement mirror Padma had sent along. "It's been a pleasure, Zatanna. If you ever find yourself in Britain, or if you need anything, you can always call me." He passed it across to her.

"Thanks, Harry," she said sincerely. "I know it's not been the best of times, but it's been nice to meet you."

"Likewise," said Harry. He really meant it. Perhaps in different circumstances he would… No, it didn't do to dwell on such things. "Don't ever doubt yourself, Zee. From what I've seen, you're one of the best. If you want to try and do the Batman thing, I think you'd be pretty damned good at it. Maybe Bruce could give you some pointers."

She smiled gratefully. "Maybe he would," she said, and their eyes met. Was she—?

"Potter!"

They both jumped back. When had they gotten so close? Zatanna's eyes were wide with embarrassment and she quickly looked away. Harry fumbled in his pocket for the offending charmed mirror.

It was Daphne, of course. She was looking especially lovely in a pale silk dress, and sporting an elaborate up-do. Behind her, Harry could see Ron dangling upside down as a result of some jinx or other. She also looked supremely pissed off. "You said you'd be back in time for our date! Now I hear you're still swanning about in America?"

Zatanna shuffled a bit further away, and Harry found himself starting to lose his temper.

"Daphne," he said, as he met her angry blue eyes, unflinching. "Fuck off."

She reared back from the mirror as if he'd physically slapped her through the glass. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," said Harry, pressing his advantage. "I know it probably never made it through that fortress of narcissism you've built for yourself, but I have my own shit to worry about, and I couldn't give less of a shit about our Merlin-be-damned farce of a 'date' if you drowned me in sopophorous juice."

"We had a deal, Potter!" Behind her, Harry noticed that Ron seemed to have managed to get ahold of his wand. Perhaps her attention had been shaken sufficiently that she'd lost focus on the binding spell.

"No, I believe what you had was a bunch of demands, and what I had was a surplus of understanding and patience," said Harry. "I'll spell it out for you. I'm not going out on a date with you just so you can score points in with your friends by turning me down."

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment, before Ron appeared behind her and plucked the mirror out of weak fingers. He was grinning broadly when he brought the mirror up to his face.

"Nicely done," he said with no small amount of appreciation. "Never seen her speechless in my life."

"Can you take it from here?" Harry asked, relieved that she did indeed seem to be stunned into silence, as if the very thought of someone not doing as she wanted was completely inconceivable. "I have more important things to deal with."

"Of course, mate," said Ron. "I need to see little miss shrinking violet out before she comes-to and breaks something. Speak to you when you get back, yeah?"

"Of course," said Harry. With a final shared nod, they broke the connection.

Harry stowed the mirror safely back inside his pocket, before he glanced over at Zatanna a little hesitantly.

Much to his great relief, she was smiling. "I'm guessing there's a story behind that exchange, then?"

"Urgh," said Harry, as he ran his hand through his hair. "You could say that. A, uh, 'friend' of mine made some comments and some other friends of mine convinced me it would be a good idea to get back at him by going on a date with his sister-in-law. Lets just say that that's the last time I take their advice on anything."

"So not a girlfriend, then?" Zatanna asked, looking more unsure of herself than Harry had ever seen.

"No," he said simply. "Not a girlfriend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we're done. What did you think? Likey/no-likey? What worked, or what do you think didn't quite fall into place?
> 
> I always envisaged this story as the first of a trilogy (though it may end up being a trilogy in 4 parts...). As I've said before, DC heroes are just started to come to the fore in the world, and as they become more numerous and prevalent, it would result in major changes for witches and wizards. This is kinda a standalone prologue to that story, but one I decided I really wanted to write because it was so different from my other stories. I have a lot of the plot of the sequel planned, but it is likely to be a few months at least before it surfaces. The plan is to once again write the first draft in full before editing and publishing here. If you're interested in seeing it, I guess you can either keep an eye out, or subscribe to me personally.
> 
> Now, I guess I should go and write something for Shadow of Angmar.


	18. Post-Credits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is done, but the tale is not yet complete. What follows is, well lets call it a 'post-credits teaser' for the sequel which is called Toppling Heroes, and which has been added to the newly created Harry Potter/DC Fusion series. If you've enjoyed Kicking Gotham, I hope you'll enjoy Toppling Heroes too!

**H** arry was shuffling his way slowly, reluctantly, to bed after a long and boring day of paperwork. It seemed that every passing month sapped more and more excitement from the job and now he was about to head to bed. Falling asleep wasn't a problem, but it made tomorrow come all the sooner, and there was nothing to say that tomorrow would be any more interesting than today.

Then, as he set his foot on the first step of the stairs to his bedroom, a voice issued from the living room, just off the corridor.

"Mr. Potter?" it asked tentatively. "Hello?"

A glance down at what the robe and slipper ensemble he was currently wearing was followed by a shrug of indifference. Whoever it was was Floo-calling him at home, at —he glanced at the grandfather clock at the end of the hall— just gone midnight. Either they knew what to expect, or they were in need of a bit of a shock anyway.

"Mr. Potter!" the voice shouted, the words magically amplified to echo throughout the entire house.

"Oh, shut up," said Harry wearily as he started shuffling in the direction of the living room. "I'm bloody coming!" he shouted back.

"Oh, Mr. Potter. It's you," said the head in the fire.

Harry had to resist the urge to ask him who exactly he was expecting to find in Harry's _house_ at this time of night. Instead, he said: "In the flesh. What's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"

"There's been an attack at the British Museum, sir," said the head, speaking rapidly. "Superman is involved, and Mr. Gudgeon detected dark magic residue from at least one of the spells and, well, it's all rather high profile…"

That certainly didn't sound good. "Okay, I understand. Give me a few minutes to get myself dressed for business, and I'll be right over. Do _not_ interfere with the dark magic, do you understand?"

"Yessir," said the head, nodding rapidly enough to displace a little of the ash in the fireplace. "I'll pass it on."

Then, without so much as a good-bye, the head was gone. Harry stared at the empty fireplace for a moment before he made his way quickly to the door and headed upstairs to get dressed.

Perhaps tomorrow _would_ be more interesting after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this story, Toppling Heroes has been pre-written and merely needs to undergo editing, so I will be following a regular weekly update rate for it.
> 
> Hopefully I'll see you on the flip-side!


End file.
